Those Without Sin
by sphinxofthenile
Summary: In a world of rituals and dogma, men must choose between keeping the faith and exposing the truth. Sephiroth/Angeal/Genesis, priest AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**Dramatis personae: Sephiroth, Angeal, Genesis and a few cameos  
Rating: PG-13 for now, NC-17 altogether (T now, M later on)  
Summary: So when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And again He stooped down, and wrote on the ground. (John 8:7-8 KJV)**

**WARNING: AU, religious and Biblical themes, blasphemy, mentions of child abuse, homosexuality, priests, prostitution, violence. And priests. Smut. And priests.**

**A/N: Collaboration work of Andrannath aka icelady and sphinxofthenile aka moi. Beta read by the awesome gothicdragon752 and strongly inspired by the movie _Priest_ by Antonia Bird (1994). I can only recommend it. Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Enjoy!  
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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter 1: The Other Gods**

* * *

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Sephiroth opens the shutter of the wooden lace, stifling a yawn. He doesn't even bother looking at the person in the other part of the confessional; all in a day's work, and today really isn't that different to begin with. "Confess your sins, child." His tone is even, flat and just a little bit bored.

"Who are you?" he hears a voice say, accusingly and it's the first moment that Sephiroth actually bothers getting off his auto pilot, craning his head to look at the person sitting on the other side. He sees darkness of the confessional, a young face framed with dark red hair, smiling at him in a somewhat cynical way, pale skin reflecting the pattern of the wooden lace. There's something elegant about those features, but things aren't that simple. Then again, he _had_ been accused of seeing the worst in people, though he can't exactly say he'd seen the devil before. "Where is Angeal?"

Sephiroth clears his throat, eyes on the pair of those practically burning his soul with question, and then something more. They're like two endless pits; a shimmering light pulls you in further with every second you gaze at them. "Father Hewley has been feeling ill this morning, so I..."

"Is Angeal okay?" the person asks, accusingly, and then leans closer to the lace, not even bothering to hide the amusement as those eyes inspect all the corners of Sephiroth's little room. Sephiroth sees the fingers, long, lean, so ladylike, the rest of the hand hidden with fingerless gloves that have probably seen better times a decade or so ago.

He even smells it, the thick electrifying scent that he couldn't place at the start, but it all makes sense now.

"Just a mild cold," he answers flatly, pulling himself together and away from the lace. The person chuckles ever so slightly, looking down now, digging through the little dark green military looking bag he's been keeping on his knees. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and Sephiroth reacts with clearing his throat again to get his attention. "No smoking allowed," he warns and the person greets him with one eyebrow raised, smiling amusingly at him while pulling out the lighter.

"I apologize." There is just so much wrong in his tone that Sephiroth would have laughed were he the type. "Well, then..." And the next moment, the person just gets up and leaves the confessional, and Sephiroth really thinks he shouldn't be affected in a way to get out himself and try and get more information on how and why this person knows Angeal. But, by the time he's out, all he ends up seeing is a young man in a light brown over-sized coat walking to the building's exit, the trail of smoke playing with the light cutting the darkness of the old church.

Vanilla.

He's tempted to follow, but he decides against it.

_Be not curious in unnecessary matters..._

* * *

Angeal's room is tiny and over-cramped. Ever since day one the two had clashed in almost every important topic. Where Angeal sees no harm whatsoever in a bit of a luxury, Sephiroth despises all the humanly corporal desires and regards them exactly what they are - sins. And, in spite the fact that Angeal has no problem in downing a bottle of expensive wine every few months, his personal quarters look... lacking. For the lack of a better term.

The chairs and the small table that seems to have never been in a set are old, as well as the bookshelf filled with books that would serve much better in some public library or a flea market instead of the priest's quarters. The bed is tiny, and makes all sorts of noises when Angeal turns in it at night. But, in the end, the room surely does depict the inner state of peace Angeal's soul obviously possesses. He can speak of many things for the weaker men, and it still takes Sephiroth by surprise every now and then when he's reminded that Angeal's words, indeed, are not excuses.

Something so rare in the world nowadays.

"What brings you here, my friend?" Angeal asks from his little bed, still looking a little pale and voice a little raspy, but he'll live.

Sephiroth smiles, almost widely (or as widely as he'd ever allow himself). "I brought you tea," he says.

"Sweetened?" Angeal asks, almost hopeful, pulling himself in a seated position with a cough.

Sephiroth instantly jumps out of his chair and pulls it closer to the bed.

"Do you think I'm senile already?" he asks with enough humour that makes them both smile.

"By the shade of your hair..."

"You can't blame me for being born like this," Sephiroth teases with enough good natured humour as he flips the few shorter strands of hair away from his forehead."

"But I can for your pride," Angeal offers, but neither of them seems bothered by it as he takes the steaming cup from Sephiroth and warms his fingers on it.

"I had an interesting visitor at the confessions today," Sephiroth starts then and Angeal looks up at him, ignoring the tea for a second. "Some redhead. Asked for you specifically..." He lets the sentence linger in the air, because it's obvious Angeal, besides being surprised, knows quite well who Sephiroth is speaking about.

Though, he ends up just shrugging his shoulders and Sephiroth is smart enough not to try and push it, though he'd like. It's not every day he witnesses Angeal lying to his face.

Then he laughs at the grimace Angeal makes after trying the tea. "You call that sweet?"

* * *

The bell of the bakery door chimes softly as he closes it, package in hand. It's the day after vigil, and he is rewarding himself and Angeal with something so small, pushing down some lingering sense of guilt just because he likes his rolls fresh. The weather is chilly, a little rain drizzling from the dark clouds here and then. Sephiroth pulls his coat tighter against his body, shutting out the wind.

There are not many people on the bus, it is not hard to spot him, at least he thinks he recognises the man with the red hair from the confessional. A huge, soft-looking scarf is wrapped around his throat, covering the lower half of his face, but his colours are so unusual, Sephiroth is fairly certain it's him. An old, well-used book is open, long, elegant fingers skimming along the lines as he reads them. And Sephiroth would just look away, were it not for the huge golden cross on the cover.

Rarely does one see a man this young read the Bible on a _bus_ of all places. There is just something about the way he does it, with so much concentration, like he wants to commit the whole thing to memory that piques the priest's interest. That and the fact that he never got to know what baggage the man carries. It's unusual, to say the least. As he looks around, he knows those people, knows what no one but God has the right to know, and it is sometimes sickening but mostly just sad. Wives with abusive husbands, spoilt children, cheating husbands, people who lost their loved ones, the sluts and the whores, the drunkards, the suicidal, the delusional, the weak, he knows them all.

He smiles a bit inwardly as he remembers Angeal's favourite line. _With the measure you judge another, by that same measure will you be judged._

By which measure would they judge him, he wonders.

He takes a seat next to the stranger, eyes on the script.

"Quomodo cecidisti de caelo, Lucifer, qui mane oriebaris?*" he reads aloud, and the redhead looks up, shuts the book with a small thud.

"You know, I've been called many things before, father," and there is a smile, barely there, but somehow so wrong, so much older than the face. "But never this."

"My apologies. I have never seen a layman read it in Latin before," Sephiroth replies, uses the opportunity to change the topic. "Were you the one who came to see me a few days ago?"

"And if I was, what of the vow of silence, father?" the other teases, an eyebrow mockingly arched.

Sephiroth can't help but notice the richness of that voice.

"If there is anything..."

"Nothing you should worry about. Tell Angeal that Genesis sends his regards."

"I will," Sephiroth nods, lips still open with unsaid questions. That name...

"He should take better care of himself. And you too, looking for lost causes to save." Despite the tone, there is a smile on the redhead's lips. Then the doors open and he is gone, leaving a faint trail of spicy fragrance behind.

Sephiroth's eyes follow him, swinging gait and the end of his scarf whipping in the wind until the bus takes a turn and there is nothing left to see but a few trees and people doing their daily shopping.

Lost cause... there are no lost causes in his line of occupation.

* * *

He really shouldn't be poking his nose in someone else's business. It's not polite, for start and, besides, Angeal and he wouldn't be able to operate as well in the same parish – under the same roof – had they tried to fight their way into each other's life.

While Sephiroth is used to sharing everything, as he had effectively never actually owned a thing, Angeal prefers to have his own little private corner where he can hide and deal with whatever projects he's dealing with.

"You lied to me," Sephiroth says over a glass of mulled wine, wrapped tightly in an over-sized blanket before their little stove.

Angeal doesn't really say anything. He tries to read; there's something he's trying to do with the overgrown yard of their local school and nobody seems to know much about gardening. It's obvious his eyes aren't scanning the lines of the page anymore.

"Who is Genesis?" Sephiroth tries, not accusingly but that's how it comes out. Angeal still keeps the pretence, even flips the page, his head falling even lower.

Sephiroth sighs, puts the cup onto their little coffee table that serves as an additional bookshelf more often than not.

"Someone from your past?" he tries a bit more warmly and sees the sarcastic little smile appear on those eyes, but it doesn't get farther than that. "If you're in trouble-"

"Can't you keep your nose out of my damned business?" Angeal snaps and Sephiroth can't think of seeing his friend as irritable as right now. He does end up chuckling then, shaking his head to pull himself together. "I apologize," he says warmly, slapping the book shut, looking at Sephiroth with a smile. "I guess I'm not as young anymore," he adds with enough good humour to make Sephiroth think twice before raising that eyebrow. "My wine tolerance has never been this low."

It's a ghost of a smile that escapes to the corners of Sephiroth's lips. "Oh, I bet you've got a few good years ahead of you," he adds cynically, making his companion laugh.

They resume their silence then, Sephiroth excusing himself at one point to bring them another cup of wine. Normally, Sephiroth wouldn't mind, enjoying their silent evenings. They are usually an excellent opportunity to catch up on a little meditation and introspection.

But not this time. It irks him. A lot. He knows he shouldn't be obsessing over such frivolous matters, but that's exactly it. This person seems to play a large role in Angeal's life (or at least, he has, at some point), if the amount of effort Angeal is investing into pretending it isn't happening is any sort of an indication.

"Does he want money?" he just can't keep his mouth shut at this point. Angeal freezes. "Because, if he is, I can hel-"

"For God's sakes, Sephiroth, not _everyone's_ a sinner!" Angeal practically screams at him, smashing the book onto the floor as he gets up.

"I beg to differ," Sephiroth continues stupidly, mistaking this as an invitation to a debate, though a second after he's spoken the words, his mistake is far too apparent.

"Try tasting the real world before judging," Angeal snaps bitterly before leaving the room without a good night.

* * *

The next morning, first thing Sephiroth says upon seeing Angeal is "I'm sorry."

Angeal just smiles right before yawning. "I suppose I should apologize as well."

Sephiroth shrugs. "Not needed," he says and it makes Angeal laugh.

"Our Lord suffered and died on the cross, can't you at least accept an apology without pomp?" It's Sephiroth's time to stare at Angeal. As unorthodox as his friend normally is, words like these seem a bit too much. They seem to be a whole new level of sacrilegious, but Sephiroth isn't the one to say it.

To say there's something bothering Angeal would be understating the matters gravely.

Instead of pushing it again, Sephiroth just smiles, passing Angeal by to his way to the bathroom.

"He is a very old friend who means a lot to me," Angeal answers with a sigh.

"I sometimes forget you had a life before this one," Sephiroth offers almost apologetically.

"We are all humans," Angeal says with a shrug, then smiles. "Well, at least most of us." There's enough teasing in those eyes, another smile really isn't needed to pull a blush to Sephiroth's face. Instead of reacting, he just pushes the door closed with his free hand, already holding the tooth brush with the other.

* * *

Sephiroth sighs as he hears someone enter the confessional. All in a day's work, he keeps on reminding himself. All in a day's work.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned." He recognizes the voice instantly, looking up to a pair of amused eyes on a face reflecting the pattern of the wooden lace. "Well?" Genesis asks after a few seconds of silence, cocking his head slightly, one corner of his lips quirked just enough.

Sephiroth doesn't even bother keeping his lips from pursing, this amuses him in a strange sort of way. Perhaps it's gloating but he refuses to think about that. "Confess your sins," he whispers and Genesis laughs, rather loudly.

"Not child anymore, I see," he says, leans and relaxes his back to the confessional wall, crossing one leg over the other and, Sephiroth realizes the man is wearing red pants. The leg sleeve doesn't seem big to begin with, but still looks too big, which makes Sephiroth wonder how thin this person actually is. "What changed, _Father_?"

Sephiroth skips a bead on his rosary without even realizing it. "Nothing," he says flatly. "Do you wish to confess or just talk?"

Genesis purses his lips ever so slightly, a bit too amused by it. "And where's the difference?"

"So I know what you want from me - compassion or guidance," Sephiroth answers, relaxes a bit as well after seeing Genesis tense, whatever humorous reply he'd prepared gets lost on his tongue.

"I don't need either."

Sephiroth produces a small shrug. "Then why are you here?"

"Boredom?"

"I don't like to be mocked."

Genesis laughs. "Just because I'm looking for amusement doesn't mean I seek comedy." He leans closer now, something shifting in that face, amusement turning serious then a bit too mocking, but Sephiroth cannot stop and think how this is just a natural state of things for this man. He seems to mean no harm, even though that's exactly what he wants everyone else to think. "And besides, what happened with welcoming everyone? Or was it really Vatican _too much_**?"

Sephiroth can't but blink, stare deeply into those eyes, and they seem so vile, so angry, so hurt and then again, so much more. "I thought the point of internal jokes was to keep them internal."

Genesis chuckles. "You probably think Angeal breaks his promises, don't you?" he asks with accusation. "I assure you, he does not. At least not intentionally. But I know my dear friend a bit too well."

This piques Sephiroth's interest and he tries to hide it. He fails at it, if the amused look on Genesis' face is to be judged. Then again, he keeps on telling himself, why would he be bothered by curiosity about his friend of so many years? "Yes, I'm rather old school, if that's what you're implying."

"Poor little choir boy who's never seen the real world," Genesis mocks and gets up from his seat. Sephiroth quickly follows, though he has no idea why exactly.

It amuses Genesis to no end, and he shows it as they both exit the small confinement of the confessional.

"What do you want from him?" Sephiroth asks, doesn't bother hiding the acid.

Genesis instantly turns serious to the point of anger. "How dare you?" he spits, it's obvious he's thinking about leaving, but still, he remains right there on the spot.

Sephiroth sighs, closing his eyes. He gives up on holding that one bead without any chance of moving, so he pulls the entire rosary into his palm. "I apologize," he says a bit too quietly. "Please..."

Back to that mocking gaze, lips pursed just enough, Genesis chuckles. "Yes, he told me you're a bit... fiery tempered."

"Angeal?"

"Who else?" Genesis asks a bit too loudly. "Do you think I have a habit of befriending priests or what?" It's enough to make Sephiroth smile. The image itself looks a bit like a mixture of something disturbing and wrong.

"No," Sephiroth says simply. "You don't strike me as the type."

"Is Angeal here?" Genesis asks then, voice surprisingly soft all of a sudden. After a second of thought, Sephiroth nods. "Can I see him?"

"I don't see why not," Sephiroth simply answers. "Follow me."

"Thank you." It's hard to imagine someone like Genesis could sound so sincere.

* * *

Notes:

* How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! (Isaiah 14:12 KJV)

** Derogatory term for the Vatican II, sometimes used by the more orthodox priests.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Enjoy!  
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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****2: Name of Your God**

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"You emptied half our fridge on him," Sephiroth says somewhat resignedly. Angeal smiles at him bitterly.

"Would've been whole had the idiot no pride," he answers and Sephiroth lifts an eyebrow. Angeal sighs. "Do you really think he's this thin out of fashion?" he asks and, for the first time, Sephiroth lowers his gaze. Out of shame, perhaps?

"How did you meet?" he asks then and a small smile escapes to Angeal's lips.

"Never would have guessed you to have a heart," the man teases.

"Don't be preposterous," Sephiroth defends, a bit too quickly. "Of course I care. And of course I want to help."

"Well, don't let him smell it," Angeal quickly adds. "Or you won't even see him running."

Sephiroth purses his lips with just enough obvious disgust. "How can he not..."

"What?" Angeal quickly snaps. "Swallow his pride?" He shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. "Oh, Seph... he'd always been independent, but..." He quickly snaps himself out of it, forcing a good natured smile. "Anyway, too late to depress myself now. Good night, my friend." And he's out of the kitchen before Sephiroth even manages to open his mouth, leaves him once again with so many unanswered questions.

* * *

It's perhaps a week before Sephiroth catches sight of that unmistakable red glory of hair in the dim illumination of the old church. He is sitting in the back alone, and Sephiroth doesn't know what bothers him more, the secrets he knows are there, behind those blue whirlpools or the fact that he had never seen anyone enter the house of the Lord with such a lack of the smallest of reverences.

He can feel that gaze on him, tangible amongst the dozens as he talks about sin and redemption; preaches about the importance of regret and forgiveness.

"For this is something we must not forget," he pauses, carries his gaze around, sees the people there, eyes on him, clutching their wet umbrellas. Tired, plain faces, the lethargy of winter on them, no trace of the Christmas sentiments left. "We must look into our souls and not blame others for the circumstances we are in. For our sins start with us and end with us, and we must trust in the mercy of the Lord to cleanse our spirits instead of sinking deeper into the swamps of our transgressions."

He doesn't like long speeches, doesn't like how he seems unable to approach these people as Angeal does, but then again, he has never been one of them and that makes all the difference it seems.

Somewhere between washing his hands and the Eucharistic prayer does he notice that the redhead already left, and for a moment, he feels an unexplainable tang of disappointment.

* * *

Like a famined alley cat, Genesis keeps on returning though. An empty cup, waned contents of the fridge and Angeal being exceptionally quiet are the telltale signs of their red stray stopping by.

Sephiroth opens the door to their house just to see a familiar, lithe figure darting out of the living room.

"Just play Aquinas to this ivory tower then, for all I care!" Genesis rages; freezes for a moment as he notices Sephiroth, then rushes past him without a word.

On impulse, he follows. "Genesis..."

"What do you want?" The redhead snaps at him, the furious rhythm of his boots on the pavement never slowing down, but Sephiroth has long legs and no trouble keeping up.

"I... you missed tea," the priest glances at his watch, knowing full well he must be circumspect, cautious with his words. Genesis is such a mercurial creature, and it's not like they can discuss this on the street anyway. "How about we sit down and amend this?"

The look Genesis gives him is nothing short of measuring, suspicious, and he tries to smile, show he means no harm. He is just more than a little bit curious what is going on.

"Fine," Genesis says finally with a haughty toss of his head, makes it seem like he is gracing Sephiroth with his presence, makes the man's smile grow just a tad wider.

* * *

"I don't wish to pry," Sephiroth says, eyes on the knife. He cuts the apple pie left by Mrs. Weil this morning as her daughter gave birth to the twins during the night. Genesis is looking at it like a starved dog, but he's too proud to say anything. "But if you want to talk..." He puts the first slice on a plate and leaves it close by, then makes sure to make the next one much thicker. He hands it to Genesis and they both pretend they don't know it.

Angeal excused himself mere minutes ago, claiming there was someone waiting for him in the chapel, and Sephiroth is smart enough to ignore his friend's failed attempt at evasion.

"I'm fine," Genesis says, starts eating the cake from the outer side, which earns him a quirked eyebrow from Sephiroth but nothing more.

"You look fine," Sephiroth says, which gets him a victorious look from Genesis. "But that just makes you a very good actor." He seats himself on to their little kitchen table, across from Genesis, taking a bite himself. It's too sweet, in his personal opinion, but still, a nice way to spend the afternoon. The water starts boiling but it's not hot enough for tea yet, so he has a minute or two. "Trust me, from everything I hear on a daily basis, you don't need to hold back due to shyness..."

"I'm gay," Genesis says without even bothering to stop biting. Sephiroth freezes, which amuses him so much.

He shrugs then. "We each have our cross to bear."

Genesis laughs dryly. "You call it a cross?"

"Homosexuality is a sin."

"So is vanity," Genesis mocks, slides two fingers down Sephiroth's front locks in a feather-light caress.

"So strive for neither," Sephiroth offers levelly, pulls away. "Angeal should serve as an excellent example..." Once more, he's interrupted by Genesis, only this time it's his laughter instead of his sinful words.

"And that's it?" the man asks, crosses one leg over the other and places the last bite into his mouth, looks at an empty plate sorrowfully, and Sephiroth uses the fact that the water heater's done to get up together with the empty plate. "Not going to shower me with advice, leaflets of institutions to cure my sinful ways?" Sephiroth doesn't miss the cynicism in that voice, and he reacts to it by placing the full plate in front of Genesis with a bit more power than needed, then he returns to pouring the hot water into the teapot as calmly as nothing happened.

"If you don't wish to save yourself, then who am I to force you?" Sephiroth offers with a bit of good natured humour as he returns with two full cups, steaming with dark liquid.

"Oh, you mean besides a priest, the religious leader of these poor, poor souls?" Genesis asks with enough sarcasm to fill that teapot once again. "And please don't bother pretending you are unfazed."

"Genesis," Sephiroth tries, slowly, warmly, takes another bite of his pie and watches the redhead put three spoons of sugar into his tea. Again, too sweet. Far too sweet. But then again, it describes his character. He's as thick and sticky like honey – it doesn't take a mind reader to see it. "If you wish my help, just ask. Otherwise... enjoy the pie."

There's a small smile playing on those lips, pushing forward but Genesis doesn't seem to want to let it win. Not just yet, at least. "I'm surprised," he says instead, corners of his lips quirking just a bit. "Compared to yesterday's sermon..."

"While I do believe we are each masters of our own destinies, that doesn't mean I will refuse a helping hand to anyone who needs it," Sephiroth offers and takes the cup between his hands. It's still hot, but by now comfortably so. "Unless you try and pull me into sin with you, who am I to deny you... apple pies and over-sweetened teas?" He hides the smile with the cup, but Genesis isn't blind.

"I don't buy it," Genesis says with a devious smile, but then he returns to his pie.

* * *

"As a priest and high authority and all... how about God creating us to his image?" Genesis leans back casually, slender fingers toying with his fork. "If God made me like this..."

"There is no proof of homosexuality not being... socially acquired," Sephiroth interrupts before even more blasphemy comes forth from that honeyed mouth. One that houses the tongue of a serpent, though. For a moment he wonders why they keep on putting up with the constant verbal jabs of the profane redhead on what is becoming a regular basis.

"Fine. Let's suppose it is," Genesis scoffs, blue eyes sparkling with challange. He loves it just a tad too much, it seems. "But if this is something I learnt to do as a child, infant even... how can I be held responsible?"

"A sin is a sin," Sephiroth answers curtly, and Angeal suddenly seems to have the time of his life watching where this is going.

"Hnn. So I can just whip myself every day, pray, avoid the temptation and I can earn my redemption for something that is not my fault... such a tempting bargain," the redhead's voice is wet silk, dripping sarcasm.

"And this is where the Protestants are wrong about predestination," Sephiroth nods.

"In the end, it is all a matter of faith," Angeal concludes, closes the book he wasn't reading anyway.

"Yeah, like me going out to the street corner and shouting about holy pink elephants," Genesis adds with a leer and after a second, they both burst out laughing.

Sephiroth just rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, Genesis," he continues, gets the attention of them both. "But the Bible strictly speaks of homosexuals in the same way as it does of manslayers, whoremongers, liars and all the other sinners."

Genesis doesn't bother hiding his eye roll. "And yet I thought you bowed to Christ and not Paul..."

"Semantics is not the argument that will..."

"You're calling me a murderer..." Genesis interrupts Sephiroth's interruption, practically spits the words with utter disgust, because he's the type incapable of keeping the same mood for more than a few minutes. Then he laughs, back to his normal, amused, argumentative self. "Whom exactly do I harm by sleeping with a man instead of a woman?"

"Yourself," Sephiroth responds and Genesis, once more, rolls his eyes.

"Well, unless he's a fan of barebacki..."

"Genesis!" Angeal ends up being the one yelling, interrupting, and the two of them look back at him. "Not in our house, please."

Genesis chuckles, dare written all over his face. "I thought this was God's house," he teases.

"Well, _definitely_ not there," Angeal adds, but with enough warmth to soothe the redhead.

"And yet I thought He sees everything anyway," Genesis says, then looks at Sephiroth, smiling, completely ignoring their little exchange of mere seconds ago. "Any pie left?"

* * *

The next entire week is spent without Genesis, and Sephiroth would die before admitting it to anyone, but he feels a hole in his life. He can't really believe it how it had happened, that someone who was practically a stranger mere weeks ago managed to sneak into their lives with such ease.

Not a day passed by without the redhead's name being ushered, either by Angeal or by Sephiroth or even by Genesis himself. And, if he hadn't contacted Angeal in more than two days, the other priest was already worried and fussing and trying to come up with a way to drag him in.

So, the day seven that he doesn't arrive, and Angeal makes no mention of the man, Sephiroth starts to worry.

"Is..." he starts as he runs into Angeal in the kitchen, the perpetual swallower of books. "Gardening again?" Sephiroth asks casually as Angeal looks up at him, over the rim of his reading glasses.

The man smiles. "I presume you didn't come all the way down here to ask me about my reading material," he simply says and Sephiroth feigns a smile, exaggerates taking a glass from the cupboard, filling it with cold water from the refrigerator.

"Did you have a fight?" he asks after drinking half the glass. Angeal sighs, places the book onto the table gently.

"Considering how much you fussed with _not_ letting him feel too comfortable around here, I must say I'm surprised," he says warmly, leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"Please," Sephiroth adds sarcastically. "With your nose in the book all the time, are you surprised I found myself a suitable replacement for a mirror?" he teases, flicks the hair off his forehead, a gesture suitable enough for all those years Angeal spent on teasing him about that little part of his vanity he just can't let go. "I miss our talks."

Angeal just smirks, definitely amused, even puts his glasses onto the book. "I'm really happy the two of you are getting along, Seph," he says, warmly, and Sephiroth seats himself on the chair opposite of Angeal's. "Two people who mean the most to me." It's an honest statement and Sephiroth is no fool, he sees how hard it is for Angeal to admit something that should be so simple, so normal for humans. But it's not. "I apologize."

"What for?" Sephiroth asks, honestly perplexed.

Angeal forces a smirk. "Some things could be misinterpreted, I'm afraid." It's an honest observation in today's world, obsessed with the material, obsessed with the sexual, turning the greatest gift to mankind into perversity, obscenity.

"Not by me," Sephiroth answers, finishes his water and promptly gets up. He notices Angeal mulling something over, but the man then closes his lips and smiles instead. Sephiroth decides to ignore it. He's too sleepy already, maybe it's better not to ponder on matters beyond his reach. Not without caffeine or a good night's sleep, at least. "To stop any further misinterpretations, Genesis is always welcome as far as I'm concerned," he adds and Angeal bites his lower lip not to grin. "As are all God's children. Good night." Angeal just nods in return.

* * *

"Blessed be," he hears the beautiful, melodic voice, startling him awake from his almost-slumber. Another night spent with a dying man's family in the hospital, and the heat and motion of the bus is quite lulling.

"Forever more, amen," Sephiroth looks up at him with mild surprise. He has never seen the redhead in such high spirit before and can't help but marvel at the soulfulness of that fine-featured, elegant face.

"Mind if I sit?" Genesis asks, bright smile still in place.

"Please do. Visiting Angeal?" he asks, even though it is far too early for any kind of visit, but he is too tired to try and figure it out on his own.

"Library," Genesis beams, holds up the green military-like sack to show off the books stashed inside. "Managed to get a card for the year," he adds with a mischievous smile and Sephiroth just returns it, decides not to ask.

"You could have asked," Sephiroth says, stifles a yawn and pulls to the window to free the seat for Genesis. "We have a small library in the basement. For the children."

Genesis laughs, hugs his bag. "I think I'm a bit beyond Little Bible and Mother Teresa's biographies, don't you think?"

Sephiroth stretches his arms, he's just too tired. "I think we can offer more than that," he says, just a tad cheekily. "Angeal tends to be obsessive when it comes to reading."

Genesis cranes his head to look at him, one eyebrow slightly elevated. "Angeal? Reading?" he asks, then laughs. "Well, I'll be damned. He used to _hate_ books."

"He did?" Sephiroth asks, surprised himself, because about every memory he has of the man is with a book in his hands. He seems like a hamster sometimes, buying anything he can afford, practically singlehandedly building that small library they have, a collection that would make the cardinal die of a heart attack if he ever found out.

"I never could understand it," Genesis says. "So many new worlds to explore... he just refused to see the point. Ah, well..." he brushes it off with a shrug. "I suppose stranger things have happened."

"Quite honestly, the number of times I've warned him he'd blind himself... no wonder he needs reading glasses in his thirties..." It's Genesis' laughter that stops Sephiroth's musings and Sephiroth looks at him in question.

"Angeal?" Genesis asks, visibly amused. "Wearing glasses?" He laughs once more. "Well, fuck me sideways." He freezes a second after the curse is out. "Forgive me, father."

Sephiroth dismisses him with a chuckle, pulls himself onto his feet because he needs to get off on the next stop. Genesis moves to the side, frees the passage, but still looks at him a tad apologetically.

"Enjoy your books," Sephiroth says with a smile and Genesis nods. "Angeal is leading the Mass tomorrow, so I hope to see you there." It's a tad hopeful, presumptuous to say the least, but Sephiroth would really like to see him. It's been a while.

Genesis seems to ignore it, as though he didn't hear a word, already opening his bag happily.

Leaving the bus, Sephiroth can't but wonder why this person doesn't irk him like everyone else. Perhaps he's just getting softer with age.

* * *

Angeal's sermons are the most beautiful things, at least for attracting people. He just has that gift, something Sephiroth stopped bothering to develop long ago. He made peace with the fact that he's there to prevent people from falling, and if they do, then Angeal takes over. It's just one of the bricks in the foundation that keeps the harmony in their little parish.

They're having a small brunch in the rectory, because Angeal is celebrating the donation of the seedlings for the school garden. Sephiroth hates the gloating elite of their little community, but as the cardinal always says, you need to make sacrifices to have your way in the end.

He's happy when Genesis appears there too, far too many eyebrows raised by the redhead's presence.

"I know I wasn't invited," Genesis says, loudly enough, and Sephiroth smiles, notices people trying to stare, but being too polite to do it directly.

"You know, by now, you're always invited," Sephiroth simply responds, then notices Angeal approach.

"Can I speak with you?" he asks, glances at Genesis for a moment. "In private?" Genesis shrugs, then leaves for the small buffet. The two priests disappear to the next room and Angeal closes the door behind them.

"Are you _mad_?" Sephiroth demands, confused. "That's not the way to behave..."

"I'm not the mad one here, Seph. Do you think his absence had no reason?"

"If it had, you did not deign to reveal it to me," Sephiroth points out, and it comes out way more accusingly than it should. Angeal and his secrets...

"Probably I should've," the older priest sighs.

"About what?" Sephiroth demands. "What is it with Genesis?"

"Not in public, Sephiroth," Angeal says as though everything is so obvious. "You can't do that while we have guests here."

"It's not like he hasn't visited us before," Sephiroth frowns, confused.

"I know," Angeal sighs, keeps his gaze everywhere but on Sephiroth's eyes.

"What changed then?"

"You invited him. In front of all those shrews, which is probably as public as it can get and no, please just listen to me this once," he holds up a palm as the younger wants to interrupt him. "I know you, Seph, I've known you for years."

"Isn't it a bit too late to worry about my reputation?" Sephiroth tries to save the situation with some humour edged to his voice, but Angeal remains serious, unhappy, even.

"Word is spreading, Seph. You know how it goes."

"Should we close our doors before him just because he is gay?"

Angeal swallows, forces himself to speak nonetheless.

"No. But maybe you want to close your doors before a whore."


	3. Chapter 3

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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****3: Holy Sabbath  
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* * *

"You are joking," Sephiroth says flatly, laughs in a frenzied manner. He can't exactly accept it.

Angeal's face is blank, eyes sad.

"Tell me you are joking, Angeal," Sephiroth repeats, voice deeper. "Tell me." He's angry, that's why he's squeezing his hands into fists. The fact that his fingers are shaking for some unexplainable reason has nothing to do with it.

Angeal sighs, closes his eyes, opens his lips just a bit to say something, but that's about all Sephiroth needs.

"How could you do such a thing?" He wants to yell, _scream_, but there are people in the other room, so all Sephiroth allows himself is a pitched whisper. "I've asked you over and over and you do this _now_? After I practically announced purchasing his..." He makes a face of disgust. "Services! Are you out of your _mind_?"

"Seph," Angeal tries slowly, gently, even extends his hands to touch Sephiroth, but the other just steps back.

"You... my reputation... you _embarrassed me_!" Sephiroth manages to spit out the words, unconnected sentences that aren't forming in his mind anymore. At least not in the right way.

Angeal looks like he's about to laugh, oh so very bitterly, but he doesn't. "Is that it?" he asks instead, not much in that voice. Sephiroth's lids squeeze, eyes two thin slits glaring at his friend, coworker, at someone who he always thought he could _count on_. "Is that really all you can think of?" he asks once more. Sephiroth feels rage building in, shaking his fists, and he wants to do something, _anything_, but he just stands there. Just stands there and glares at the other. "Is this how you see the world?" Angeal's voice is a mixture of calm and disappointment.

Does that hurt more?

He needs to calm down and think.

"How can you be so _selfish_? Have you no guilt over how this will look on me? On the Mother Church?" it still comes out far more accusatory than it should. He can't even remember a time when his emotions got the best of him like this, but it is enough to look at Angeal to feel the stab all over again. Never before did he feel so... _betrayed_.

"That is all that matters now?" Less calm, more disappointment. And a lot more hurt. "The Cardinal taught you well."

Sephiroth thinks, there's nothing that Angeal could have said, _nothing_ else that could have hurt more. Such a low blow, and he is at a loss for words.

"Always the Mother Church first, the facade first. Who cares about the weak and the hurt and the poor, the ones who need help the most? We just cast them aside because they make us appear in a bad light? When did the dignity of the Church become more important than helping people? Because that is why _I'm_ here, Sephiroth. Why are _you_ here?"

"Vatican too much," he whispers, but there is a shadow of a smile on his thin, pale lips. Just like usual, Angeal's words are simple, but there is truth in them, emotion, _conviction_ that affects him despite himself. No wonder the older man has rubbed off on him so much over the years.

Angeal was just trying to do what he thought was right, as always. It is also obvious that his intentions were perfectly in tune with his, it was only the handling of the whole affair that went a bit astray in the process.

"I should've told you. I'm sorry," Angeal looks at him warmly, then his face suddenly lights up, the subtle mischief that is so rare and refreshing at the same time glinting beneath the blue of his eyes. "You can't be holier than Christ."

"I understand he is your friend, Angeal," Sephiroth shakes his head, suddenly all seriousness again. "But you're smarter than that."

"Smarter than what?" Angeal suddenly steps back, and Sephiroth can swear, he can practically see his friend build a wall around him. "Smarter than helping him?"

Sephiroth sighs. "If you had told me, then this today would not have happened," he says, tries to keep his voice calm, even though he's getting angry for reasons he's yet not understanding completely. "And chances are, I've lost a few people out there. Which is worth saving, then, one or five?"

Angeal stares at him as though he's just vanished into thin air. "I didn't know you moonlight in soul trading," he practically spits out, arms folded over his chest. Sephiroth opens his mouth to say something, but Angeal just cuts him off. "There are people out there. Waiting for _you_," he says. "I'll be in my room." And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away.

* * *

By all means, it should be different. But then again, it is so typical, Angeal thinks, so _human_. He has known Sephiroth for so long, worked hard to show the man the world and help him find his place in its bustling flow, to make him understand the people around them. Yet, all too often he would forget that his companion had been raised differently, that old habits and well-taught convictions are much harder to root out than any kind of weed.

Probably this is what is his main source of... annoyance, for lack of a better term. But he knows, changing people isn't that easy, and you cannot learn the things you think you know. Maybe thinking that you actually can make a difference is just another form of pride.

Isn't it God who is supposed to turn the hearts of men? Then again, he _is_ God's agent on Earth. Only, things are never that simple.

He closes the door behind himself with a sigh. He had been wrong. Then again, he tends to when it comes to Genesis, he thinks with a wry curl of his lips. It's so much like Genesis to wreak havoc in their comfortable, if at times a bit (dare he say) dull lives by merely being there.

His eyes on the plain black cross he lowers himself to the kneeler, lowers his forehead to his entwined fingers. He knows many people in the seminary thought him overzealous for spending so much time kneeling before the cross like this, but for him, it is a wonderful way of sorting out his thoughts, of finding his inner peace and seeing the path before him.

_Benedictus Deus. Benedictum Nomen Sanctum eius..._

Is it wrong that he thinks like he does? He is sure that the Church would say so. It is his task to guide the flock, not to waste allowances on someone who laughs in the face of religion and throws blasphemy like worthless coins. Sephiroth just said what he already knew.

But how could he not?

_Benedictus Iesus Christus, verus Deus__..._

Genesis needs him. No matter how hard he pretends, just the fact that he is there, coming back, tells all Angeal needs to know. And if he turned his back on his friend, he would never be able to live with a clear conscience again. God knows he has enough guilt weighting down on him as it is, not like he needs more.

To make matters worse, his lapse of judgement made a rift between him and Sephiroth, another thing he needs to fix. Sometimes, his whole life feels like he is standing on a sinking ship, trying to cover the holes knowing all too well that by the time he finishes with one there are two new ones to take care of.

He will apologise later on. The problem remains though, as long as Genesis does, Angeal knows that, wishes he could see where it would lead them in the end.

Then again, maybe it's best he doesn't.

_Benedictus Deus in Angelis suis, et in Sanctis suis. Amen._

* * *

The moment he enters, the hum of the usual elevated chit-chat highlighting the low, hushed undertones of the unavoidable small town gossip suddenly comes to a freezing halt. Then the idle chatter picks up as if nothing happened, and he pretends he didn't notice anything. Genesis approaches with a warm smile and Sephiroth's lips turn sharp, gaze icy, and Genesis might wish to pretend he doesn't notice, but they both know the truth.

"Something happened with Angeal?" Genesis tries, mostly to buy himself some time, or so it seems.

"Father Hewley and I," Sephiroth makes sure to stress, "we're perfectly fine. Though, there seems to be a misunderstanding." He notices the chatter losing intensity just so slightly, and Genesis is not a fool either.

"Oh?" Genesis asks with a quirk of an eyebrow and Sephiroth slides his palm to the low of Genesis' back, slowly pushing the redhead towards the door.

"The doors of our blessed Mother Church are always open to you," Sephiroth whispers, leading the two of them, and Genesis' face turns into disgust. "But this is a private party, so if you don't mind..." Genesis doesn't say anything at first. His face is the picture of disappointment and disgust, but he seems too proud to word it.

"Fiat voluntas tua," he says then, takes hold of Sephiroth's hand and bows down, kissing it with utmost respect. Too stunned to react, Sephiroth remains staring as Genesis narrows those expression full eyes before leaving through the front door.

It's hard not to notice the gasps people make, the myriad of eyes upon him. It's hard to not imagine the stories that will sprout in the morning. And it's Genesis' fault, all of it. Sephiroth should hate him. He should hate him for the embarrassment, the awkwardness, all this mess. He extended his arms, he wanted to help, and this is how Genesis returns it?

He has no idea why he feels like his insides have been washed with acid for the rest of the evening, every forcedly polite conversation just another nail to his coffin. So many words exchanged and yet nobody seems to be capable of a simple talk.

* * *

It's around eleven in the evening that Sephiroth manages to get the last person out, proud with himself for being able to keep a smiling face for so many hours. And even the mess isn't that big, their housekeeper shouldn't have much to do in the morning anyway.

"Hope you're bloody proud of yourself," he hears from from the dark corner as he enters the living room, and he quickly turns the light on, not quite sure what startled him, the fact that Angeal is hiding in the dark, or that he is doing so while being drunk.

"So that's where that bottle of white wine went," Sephiroth offers with a forced smile as he seats himself onto the sofa's armrest, facing Angeal. The bitter smell of wine is quite strong, but then again, the bottle is about half empty and open, so maybe that's not Angeal on his own. "I've been looking for it," he adds, somewhat teasingly, and Angeal offers it abruptly, practically shoves it into Sephiroth's hand.

Sephiroth takes a small sip straight from the bottle, mostly because he knows Angeal expects him to, and not because he'd like some wine. He prefers red anyway, and only in small quantities. Though, after their little parties, he generally avoids it until the next Eucharist, disgusted at how little attention people pay at what they put in their bodies. A grave insult to the Creator.

"I missed you there," he offers and Angeal laughs bitterly.

"One can't escape one's own nature," Angeal offers, yanking the bottle away for another drink. "I'll always be the terrified little pervert, and you the ultimate kisser of everyone's..."

"Angeal!" Sephiroth interrupts with a yell. "You're drunk," he says with a calmer voice, gets up with the desire to leave before this escalates, but Angeal grabs him by the arm, pulling back, pulling close so hard Sephiroth stumbles and falls to his knees before Angeal's chair. "Stop this."

"We can't escape our natures, can we?" Angeal's voice turns rusty, darker with every word and he lowers down, their faces bare inches away. Sephiroth can hear his own heart pounding, too stunned with this entire situation. "You just have to hurt everyone for the love of God, and I just have to hurt you for the love of..." And then he laughs, lets go of Sephiroth just so he can push his own face into his hands. He's an image of a broken man, and now Sephiroth can't leave even if he wanted.

Reluctantly, he places his still trembling hand onto Angeal's hair, and Angeal jerks at the touch, but he doesn't pull away, just sighs as Sephiroth keeps on stroking those tresses gently.

"I think today was just too long for all of us," Sephiroth offers in a warm whisper and Angeal looks at him, warily, relaxing his palms on his own knees.

"There's so much good in you hidden under all these rules," Angeal says and tugs Sephiroth's hand away, taking hold of the bottle. "Go and sleep, father. Forget tonight ever happened," he says and Sephiroth pulls himself up. "You get used to it after a while. I know, I did."

Sephiroth decides to leave without a comment. However, he does not forget, and the words spoken linger on his mind for long while, keeping him awake in bed for hours.

* * *

For the next few days, it seems as though someone died. Angeal refuses to speak to Sephiroth unless it's really necessary, and Sephiroth feels too guilty to try and push his way back in. Then, one night that seems to be the type to make one consider snow a comforting thought, Genesis appears on their doorstep about half an hour after midnight. The bell startled both priests, and they meet in the main hallway with sleepy eyes, glancing at one another before Angeal opens the door.

At that point, Sephiroth feels the atmosphere turning back to normal, as Angeal grabs Genesis in his arms, holds the freezing shaky body tight before shoving him inside. "Water leak in the building," Genesis says, "Damned... forgive me father," he quickly adds, glancing at Sephiroth and the priest just nods, "ice broke the pipes and they shut down everything. God only knows when heating will be back, and it's..."

"It's okay," Angeal comforts, holds Genesis once more before urging him to take his almost frozen clothes off while he orders Sephiroth to quickly bring all the blankets; start the water for the tea; find the extra bedding, see if they still have the electric blanket, and that's the point where Sephiroth stops listening and proceeds with digging through the bottoms of the wardrobes.

A few minutes later, Sephiroth appears with a handful of what he managed to find, and Genesis is already standing there in the middle of the living room, wrapped in blankets, his soaked, dirty clothes a heap on the floor. It's only now that Sephiroth sees the bluish undertone of those lips, around the eyes and the unnatural red glow of the far too quickly heated cheeks.

"Keep him company, please," Angeal orders, grabbing the bedding from Sephiroth's hands and Sephiroth just smiles, pointing to the kitchen where the teapot is already whistling (when did Angeal manage, Sephiroth has to wonder), and Genesis follows with a grateful smile.

Sephiroth quickly opens the radiator valve, listens to the water surge through the pipes, and Genesis seats himself to one of the chairs, holding the blankets tight, his shivers slowly subsiding.

"I don't bite," he whispers, voice coarse as though he's about to catch a cold, though Sephiroth knows it's been a while since that one had been caught, and its effects are just announcing their presence.

"Anybody but yourself," Sephiroth answers to that one, with a bit of an edge to his voice, but he refuses to let the bad feelings linger in his heart. He quickly takes the now screaming teapot off the fire, and grabs one of the mugs, fills it almost to the top and hands it to Genesis. True, the tea is weak, but Genesis needs it mostly for the heat, not the taste.

He pours himself a glass full of cold water instead, before leaning his hip onto the sink, forcing a smile as he looks back at Genesis. "You really should learn to ask for help when you need it."

Genesis opens his mouth, muscles in his jaw tensing with that fire, so much hotter than the small kitchen ever could receive. Almost burning the air. But he doesn't speak, at least not what he's thinking. "I didn't need it earlier." He bites into his own teeth hard, focuses onto the steaming mug.

"You're blue," Sephiroth states the obvious and it makes Genesis produce that cynical chuckle of his, and Sephiroth needs to keep on reminding himself it's not spite but pride that keeps Genesis from reaching out, that keeps him from blocking Sephiroth oh so perfectly. "I apologize. I just..." Maybe it's better to bite his cheek than speak, but Sephiroth just can't help himself. And even after downing the glass, letting the water wash him from within, his mind lingers on similar thoughts, so he decides to word them. "Why don't you let others take care for you? Is your ego really that big that you're incapable of accepting others are maybe better suited for the task?"

"Oh, fuck you," Genesis spits out almost before Sephiroth finishes his own verbal attack. "You and your crystal towers and bookworm experience, real life would fuck you with a rusty rod." It's when Genesis finishes the string of obscenities that Sephiorth notices that spark of amusement appearing in Genesis' eyes. He's made a mockery of himself and is not afraid to admit it. "That came out wrong, didn't it?" Genesis asks with enough humour pointed at himself.

"Well, I know I wouldn't dare repeating it, no," Sephiroth offers, keeping the amusement in the undertone. Blasphemy or no, he finds he has been missing this. "But then again..." And that's definitely treading into the forbidden area, and Sephiroth quickly freezes. Genesis just rolls his eyes, and it's enough of a gesture to pull out the worst from the priest as well. They're only human in the end. "Why?" It really is a simple question, though Sephiroth knows he shouldn't usher it. Damned Genesis be, he'd think but he's better than that, damned he be for pulling the worst out of him. "I apologize," he adds with a sigh and Genesis winks.

"I'll bare my soul only if you reciprocate."

"Dare I demand an explanation?"

"Rather simple, father," Genesis offers with a tinge. "I share my reasons only if you share yours."

Sephiroth raises his eyebrows and relaxes a bit, small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I think that's a fair bargain," he offers. "I'm a priest, because..."

"Oh, trust me, I know far more about the justifications the clergymen use than you could survive knowing," Genesis quickly interrupts, a wink forming in his eyes, but he doesn't let it through. "In that aspect, you can't really surprise me. What I want to know is why you do your business so diligently, with so much bitterness for the... common folk." Sephiroth offers a quirk of an eyebrow, which just serves as an amplifier to the dare in Genesis' eyes. "Why do you hate other humans so much? What have they done to _you_?"

With a sigh, Sephiroth pulls himself away from the sink, leaves the glass in it and sits to one of the chairs, looking at Genesis. "Alright," he whispers, forces a smile and breaks the eye contact, because he's thinking or is just ashamed. "Sitting in that little wooden box, every day," he starts, pauses for a second because he _knows_ he shouldn't be talking about it, he shouldn't be degrading his mission, his call, but sometimes he just feels so _alone_. Angeal will never understand this. They're completely polar in this one aspect. "You can't even fathom the things I know about people, the things I know I could use against them. You have no idea what's going on in other people's minds, the thoughts another human shouldn't even _know_. It's just... so much..." He'd love to say 'power', but is thankful when Genesis interrupts him with a snort.

"I know places where you can get a ten year old for the night," Genesis spits out, forces a laugh, then keeps quiet because he knows he's overdone it.

"I really wanted to help others, bring the light, but I simply find myself being sucked into their darkness."

"Sadly, that's life," Genesis offers warmly, and he means it, not just because Sephiroth finds his hand covered with the other's, skin so warm but so cold within. "And it sucks."

It makes Sephiroth chuckle, ever so slightly. "You really don't need to answer if..." he tries and Genesis shakes his head, pulls that warm and cold hand away to wrap his blanket tighter.

"I'm not ashamed of what I do," he quickly states, forces confusion to Sephiroth's face and laughs. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it. It brings money and, if you set your mind the right way, it can be less damaging than you'd think. Or I'm just fooling myself, but what's a pretty boy with no education like me to do?"

"There are surely jobs..." Sephiroth starts but Genesis' eye roll stops him.

"Forgive me, father, for being so blunt," Genesis says then, completely ignoring the redundancy of those words, "but you really don't have any grasp of the real world, do you?" Sephiroth looks down, and it's not shame but the lack of will to get trapped in the same path with no end once again. "It really isn't that much of a story, I promise," Genesis teases, but he keeps his eyes away. "You'd be surprised how good you become at stealing and pickpocketing once you realize it's the fastest way for food to get into your stomach. Of course, the cops generally knew me. They'd catch me, lock me up, put me in one of those places where they should _help me_," Sephiroth can't but admire how well Genesis is at hiding his disgust. The fact that he's not perfect at it this time shows how much he loathes those times. "I'd escape, of course. Every single time. You have no idea how easy it is to get lost in today's civilized world. Global village they call it, no?" He looks at Sephiroth pointedly, eyes so cold, so shaded with self control and mock amusements. "One time they made a mistake, or they were just overbooked, I don't really remember, hell I don't really _care_," he snorts, "and I ended up locked up for the night with a man who was way out of my league."

"As in?" Sephiroth urges, tensing on his seat.

Genesis laughs. "As in I stole a microwave and he killed two people."

"Good god," Sephiroth gasps, realizes he's gripping his fingers tight, so he relaxes them with a bit too much mental force involved.

"Oh, don't worry, father, my life isn't as interesting as your imagination is," Genesis teases then, something in those eyes squeezing around Sephiroth's heart. "He was a nice man. A real gentleman, if you will. I spent the entire night annoying the very core out of him, but somehow he ended up helping me... in my new profession, you see." He turns his eyes on Sephiroth, and it seems as though he likes the way the story has been told. He's proud of himself, and it's horrible, in Sephiroth's opinion, having to see those instant changes, from disgust to pride, as though Genesis is torn himself.

"Where is he now?" Sephiroth finds himself asking though, by the creep climbing up his spine, he thinks it's better not knowing.

Genesis forms a small shrug. "Security isn't exactly in the triads' job description," he offers and Sephiroth sighs.

"I'm... sorry." It's hard to say it, it's just too much information that Sephiroth would like to _unknow_, but things don't work that way.

"In a way, so am I," Genesis offers, still smiling, and still proud, no disgust. "Poor Tseng, he really did have a thing for redheads." And then he's just cheeky, looks at Sephiroth, and the priest's cheeks turn crimson and he looks down, because there are things in those eyes he doesn't like all of a sudden.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**Another late update, but at least another long one. ****Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Enjoy! :)  
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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****4: Father and Mother  
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The next morning, they're fighting again. Sephiroth tries not to listen, but Genesis rarely spares his breath when he's in this mood, so it seems. Angeal is much more constrained, so the other part of the argument is missing, but Sephiroth can't exactly miss drawing his own conclusions.

It's about the past again. Last night seemed to be so well spent, with Angeal making more soup and them talking until the early hours of the morning. Sephiroth knew he'd regret it eventually, but after hearing Genesis' hurt tone pass through the walls, he feels many a thing, but going back to sleep isn't one of them.

By the time Genesis yells "You ruined my life!" Sephiroth decides it's time to get up and play the judge. Or at least a friend, if either of them need it. Though, as he gets dressed and enters the living room, all he finds is Genesis sitting at his unmade bed, fidgeting with his fingers nervously.

"He's in his room," he whispers, voice raspy from all that yelling, and Sephiroth forces the warmest smile he can muster.

"I figured as much," he says and Genesis snorts, those eyes moving from hurt to playful enough, more like daring.

"I'm not known for keeping quiet," he says with enough teasing to pull goosebumps over Sephiroth's skin, and instantly regret passes over the redhead's face. "Maybe I should leave," he says, his fingers stop fidgeting, but he turns the unease to his legs, jumps up from the bed, wants to walk, do _something_, like a trapped cat. He freezes as Sephiroth takes hold of his hand, looks at the man and then jumps back.

"And maybe you should stop blaming others for the mistakes you made in your life," Sephiroth finds himself snapping, the words too much even for his preaching taste. "Maybe you should let others help you," he tries to repair the crack, but it's obviously too late.

"You don't know anything about me, so stop pretending you do and you have the right to tell me how to live my life!" Genesis is close to screaming again.

"So, why not tell me?" Sephiroth shoots back, realizes his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth and Genesis' eyes flare with rage, but God above, he wants to _understand_.

"You want to know?" Genesis seethes with enough malice to drown in, his voice rising with each word. "I can tell you. I can tell you more than you ever wanted to hear, and it would do nothing, because you'll never know how it feels to stand in front of a bakery in the pouring rain and stare at the bread you can't have. To listen to your drunken neighbour beat his screaming wife, to shiver all night, unable to sleep because you no longer have the luxury of heating, to fuck someone because there is a knife at your throat..." his voice suddenly breaks, eyes wide, shocked at his own revelations, but Sephiroth's are wide too, terror, disbelief all too evident.

"Genesis..." he whispers, visibly hurt and hurting for him.

The other just shakes his head, rage gone, replaced by the usual controlled facade, but the hate is still there, underneath all that pain. There is something in the way he haughtily lifts his chin that is suddenly killing Sephiroth inside.

"If this is how God loves me, I would rather if he stopped."

"Don't say that." The words are simple, and they carry no emotion because Sephiroth doesn't know what to pour into them. Disgust? Pain? Hope? Pity? "He works..."

Genesis rolls his eyes, the chin close to trembling, but he's too proud for that. "At least try and say it like you mean it. You owe yourself as much."

"And maybe that's just it?" Sephiroth tries, just a bit hope in his voice, but he's not expecting much anyway. "Maybe you're here for a reason. Angeal tells me he ran into you by sheer accident. Maybe, just _maybe_..." One dry laugh from Genesis and Sephiroth doesn't even bother. He sighs instead. "Can I at least buy you breakfast? Please?"

It's in the little things, Sephiroth thinks, how Genesis' eyebrow curls, or how he bites his lower lip. For someone so well used to pretending, his face seems far too expressive. "You're paying," Genesis adds with a chuckle, but there's that underlying question – doubt.

"That's what I said," Sephiroth offers with enough warmth of his own. "Please, follow me."

* * *

The tavern is small, simple yet welcoming. The dim, orange lights give an illusion of warmth while outside the gloomy morning hangs low and heavy over a city that never trully sleeps, curled up on itself like a wild beast ready to attack if someone is careless enough to mistake the quiet for peace.

The waitress collects their empty plates with disinterest, dark, thickly lined eyes standing out dull and grotesque in her whitewashed face. She's probably just above thirty but looks much older, make up enhancing the early wrinkles of exhaustion. She's probably just waiting for her shift to end, so she can get her well deserved sleep.

"I'll be right here with your drinks," she says, but the cheerfulness of her voice is just as fake as the one created by the red and white checked tablecloths that are put on with the down side up to save on the laundry costs. Sephiroth just nods his head.

There is music in the background, not like they care to listen though. Genesis is drawing idle patterns on the serviette with his finger, waiting for the questions that flit around them so tangible in the stuffy air, but they are easier to ponder than to voice.

The waitress comes back with a colorful plastic tray and Sephiroth wraps his fingers around the hot china of the simple white cup, grateful for the distraction that buys him a precious few more minutes to figure out how to approach the situation. He is saved though by Genesis breaking the silence first, as if reading his mind.

"I was fourteen when I first realised that I could never be the child my parents wanted. At sixteen, I was foolish and hopelessly in love with my best friend," Genesis pulls out his lighter with the quirky purple apple on it and lights a cigarette, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. "Then one day they caught us. No possible misunderstandings, you see. Considering I was on my knees before him... When we were kids, Angeal swore to protect me, did you know that?" he suddenly laughs with bitterness, his arm making another one of those characteristic, sweeping gestures of his.

"Protect you?" Sephiroth muses, somewhat bewildered with the change in topic.

"Everybody but my parents knew I was gay," he redhead shrugs. "Not like I was hiding it. And trust me, there is nothing more sinister than a pack of children with a cause."

"I can believe that," Sephiroth nods, remembers kids he's seen in the church yard, standing around a frog, beating the bloodied creature with sticks and laughing. Is this why Genesis blames Angeal? For not being there to save him from his own stupidity? It doesn't even merit a question, the answers are all too obvious. Just as he thought.

"My knight in shining armour," Genesis reminisces with a touch of humour, the eyes suddenly sparkling with amusement, and Sephiroth thinks he has yet to see another person so quickly changing their mood. "Anyway, in the end, when I refused to be 'normal' again, they just came out with the facts. They weren't my parents, instead, they were just keeping me for the money they got from the state. From that moment on, I wouldn't have gone back if they would've begged for it."

"Your pride again..." Sephiroth shakes his head, but his mind can't stop lingering. Genesis is an orphan, just like him.

"And so what?" Genesis tosses his head, cinnamon tresses blazing to life with the motion. "If the world spits me out, I spit on the world. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, isn't that how it's supposed to be?" he adds with humour, challange, blue eyes sparkling over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip.

Sephiroth's gaze drops to those full lips, red with heat and promising the taste of spiced creamed coffee.

"Why would you condemn yourself willingly?" he asks, not quite sure whom he is addressing with the words.

"Damnation, salvation, such majestic words for such small things."

"How can you say...?"

"Why do people need you?" Genesis cuts in, a trace of impatience in his voice, like he is talking about something that should already be evident and Sephiroth frowns.

"What kind of question is that?"

"What do you think, why do they go to church every week, open their souls to you like they never do to another?" and the question actually makes him wonder, because the impetuous redhead seems so sure of himself, even though Sephiroth has no idea what point he is trying to make. It all seems so simple. Maybe a bit overtly so, and it makes his voice slightly hesitant as he replies.

"They come because of their faith, to find their peace and redemption, and our task is to help them along, listen to them and..." he trails off, because Genesis looks so amused, smile telling he expected nothing else, and it leaves him with a feeling of inadequacy.

"Do they, now?" Genesis asks smoothly, so knowing, so triumphant. He just leans back and waits for an answer in silence, cradling his drink with a smirk.

"Explain," Sephiroth finally relents when it becomes obvious the redhead is not about to say anything else and he can't force himself to say of course, even though he has a feeling he won't like what is coming.

"It's rather simple," Genesis shrugs, suddenly serious. "If you take a step back from all the decorative crap people hang on their ideals, you, the church, your faith and religion is nothing but an escape, a tool to warp an ugly reality into something prettier."

"Says the one who doesn't believe in anything," Sephiroth retorts, and Genesis lets a small, cynical laugh slip.

"Says the one who lives off the escapism of others. If you think about it, in a way, we are not all that different, father."

"Such bitterness," Sephiroth shakes his head, but words are not that easy to fend off, so he just goes on. "Just because you have seen darkness, it is foolish to discard the light. Mock the things you crave and you make a mockery of yourself."

There is anger in those azure eyes again, flashing like thunder as the cup hits the table and Genesis rises, hands balling into fists. "Perhaps, I live in darkness... but at least I don't have to lie day after day while looking them in the eye. Good day, _father_."

"Genesis," he calls after him, but the redhead is already taking his leave without a backward glance. With a small curse (God may forgive him) Sephiroth throws a few bills on the table and hurries after him.

To his surprise, Genesis is standing just a few steps away, leaning to the wall of the building, features lit by the faint glow of the violently orange end of his cigarette. His other arm wrapped around himself, his solitary form appears so forlorn, so easy to crush, and Sephiroth slows down his steps as a fleeting ache constricts his chest despite everything.

"I'm sorry," guilt makes it easier to say the words, the reward in the wobbly smile Genesis grants him with in return, even though his eyes remain fixed on the thin strip of sky visible from between the tall buildings.

He should probably say something more, don't let the silence stretch, but his social skills have always been a little less than adequate, and no experience in the world has prepared him for this. Like anything could prepare someone to interact with Genesis, so passionate, so mercurial, he thinks with a wry half-smile.

A few kids pass them by with huge school bags, chatting animatedly. They spare them a few curious, wide-eyed glances, but by the time they turn the corner they are already back to their little gossips about their classmates, carefree and ignorant. For a moment it strikes him that once Genesis must've been like that too. Before all... all _that_.

"I should apologize as well. I was selfish," that familiar melodic voice reaches his ears, startling him from his musing.

"I've yet to meet someone with more right to it," Sephiroth says warmly, but Genesis shakes his head, stubs out the cigarette on the wall and lets the butt fall to the ground.

"Someone once told me you can know a good man by the things he is afraid of losing," he steps closer to the priest, looking up from under a veil of auburn tresses. "He also told me I should learn to keep my mouth shut," he adds with a faint smile, and Sephiroth chuckles.

"And what is it you are afraid of losing, Genesis?" he asks then, and the redhead leans close in a gentle waft of cinnamon, clove and tobacco with a small, derisive laugh, his hot breath ghosting over Sephiroth's skin. It feels like an eternity, just standing there like that. He can feel the heat of Genesis' body, making him shiver, making him close his eyes as his heart starts racing, anticipating something, waiting for the redhead to do _something_ but dreading it at the same time.

"I never said I was a good man, Sephiroth. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise," Genesis breathes in a sad, shushed whisper, then the heat is gone together with the sense of his presence, and by the time Sephiroth opens his eyes, all he captures is a glimpse of Genesis' coat as it disappears in a side street.

* * *

The night is unpleasant, not just because of the cold. It's just somehow tacky, clings to the skin humid and... Not like it matters, Sephiroth sighs as he steps out of the house. It is late, no more buses to take, the last train long gone, but it is a priest's duty to always be there for the faithful, and the departure of one in the witching hour cannot be discarded for reasons of comfort. If only he wouldn't have to walk through the streets all alone, but fiat voluntas tua.

He wraps his coat tightly around himself, shoves his hands into his pockets, because even with the gloves, his fingers are threatening to just simply freeze. His gait is sure and steady, thoughts going back to the small flat he had just left behind. Dingy, so achingly poor, home to four kids now without a mother.

He murmurs a quick prayer under his breath for the poor soul.

A car drives past, then more as he nears a more active part of town. One of the seediest quarters of all, with the cheap little shops mostly ran by immigrants and bars that never close.

There are homeless people huddled up under a single spread sleeping bag. The dog that obviously belongs to them lifts its head as he walks past, clever, alert eyes following his movements and suddenly he wishes he had something on him he could give to the loyal guardian.

A bus speeds by, going to some other city, perhaps. The faces staring out the window are blank, wrinkled by fatigue, some of them young, university students going home for the weekend. There are men talking in front of a bar, faces gruff and puffy from alcohol, cigarettes dangling between their fingers. One of them bumps his shoulder against him, no way unintentional, but apologizes with a barely moving tongue when he sees the cross dangling from the priest's neck.

He thinks he recognises one of them from mass, tries not to dwell on it. He should probably tell the man to go home to his family, but looking at them like this, he is not so sure anymore. So he just nods and continues walking.

He looks up at the crossing, one foot already on the road when he notices him, and for a moment he doubts his own eyes.

Genesis.

Gait sure, ever so graceful, hands tucked deep inside his pockets and one end of the white scarf languidly whipping by his side with the force of his movements. A street lamp casts a faint halo of light around him, glints off his hair in a brilliant shade of copper, and suddenly all the world narrows down to that thin back. Before he knows what he is doing, Sephiroth's steps gain speed, keeping up with the redhead.

Genesis should not be here in this neighbourhood, not in this hour. Nor should he, Sephiroth thinks, but dismisses the thought as he sees another group of unshaven, crude men standing around a door, harsh, artificial light from inside turning their faces into threatening masks of shadow and light. Without thinking, he pulls closer to Genesis, but the unease lingers like a heavy mantle that does nothing to ward off the cold of the night.

The drunk cat calls ring harshly vivid and indecent in the small alley and Sephiroth tenses, but Genesis retorts with easy insouciance without a breath of pause. It hurts somehow, to know this is nothing new to him.

Maybe he should just turn around and leave. He can't even be certain why did he come, and the lack of a tangible reason makes him feel awkward and out of place. He should just go home, to the small, cozy living room, hot tea, books, Angeal, and...

Genesis stops before a door that is leading to the basement of the building. Usually, there are bars in these shoddy little holes, but there are no bright lights on here, no signs on the dirty wall. The redhead raises a hand to knock, peeling paint crumbling to the ground at his touch from the weathered metal door.

When it opens a few seconds later, there is music throbbing out into the open, carrying with it faint, oily green light that gives Genesis' skin a loathsome pallor as he disappears into it, like a hollowed spirit descending into Hades.

He has no words for what he is feeling, more than curiosity and less than fear, paralysing mixture that freezes him to the spot, nervous restlessness thrumming through his muscles, the cross like a burning weight under his coat and when the rotting metal door starts closing, he bolts, slips into the crack, left hand gripping it to a halt.

Even through the gloves he can feel its acrid cold, the surface raspy and porous, but it ceases to matter the moment he looks into a pair of dull grey eyes. The man is bulky, perhaps twice as wide as him and a few inches taller, clad entirely in black. Sephiroth feigns indifference and would move on were it not for that enormous body shifting to block his way.

"Haven't seen you here yet," the Cerberus of the place declares, voice deep and the eyes blinking slow, threatening.

He should say something, but the surreality of the whole situation is freezing up his throat, furtive voices wailing in his head, telling him to turn around and leave, but there is something in him that would not allow such cowardice.

"Don't fret Pete, he's with me," silky, laughing voice reaches his ears, and his gaze flutters to the source as if waking from some strange dream.

Genesis is standing at the bottom of the stairs, divested of his coat but substituting the warmth with an arm lazily flung around his waist that belongs to a skinny, tanned young man with a dark complexion, hooking his thumb leisurely into a loop on the redhead's jeans.

Sephiroth can only hope his face is just as blank as usually as he fights to tame the nameless maelstrom inside. "Thank you," he says levelly, and Genesis tosses his head with smug defiance, smiling.

The outfit is really becoming of him, dark, tight pants and a clingy, light shirt occasionally letting a strip of pale, flawless skin show below the waistline. Like this, his body does not appear so much thin but rather wiry, almost fey, sleek in its sensually graceful movements. Not like he is staring.

Genesis leans into the body next to him, flashing a beguiling smile. "Buy me a drink, would you? I'll be right there."

The dark eyes of the other travel to Sephiroth, he can feel the suspicious displeasure in them as they regard him with clear scrutiny, but the stranger finally makes a noncommittal hum and leaves in the direction of the bar. The air seems lighter, the tension is far from lifted though.

Genesis pulls him into the small anteroom to the toilets, the stark black tiles highlighting the anger and accusation on his face. "Why are you here?"

He wants to laugh, because he honestly has no idea. In the end, he just smiles, forced as it is. There is only one thing to be said, even though it feels so useless to say it. "Come back with me, Genesis."

Those blue eyes stare back at him wide and stunned for a moment before the chuckle slips, so bitter, so fake.

"Is it better to be a kept boy then? Suits your morals better?"

"Don't be like that again." Why is he so beseeching, so weak? He has the greatest power behind him, and yet when he looks into those eyes it all seems to dissipate. He can't change people, he can't make them _see_... not when they don't want him to.

"Again?" Genesis mocks with ire. "_This_ is me, Sephiroth, like it or not, don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not one of your helpless little lambs you can string along and nor do I want to be. I don't need you to save me and I will not be caught up in your one-man crusade."

There is silence, broken, widening. What can be said in the face of so much spite?

Genesis' face softens then, and he steps closer, too close almost, his fingertips caressing down the length of a silver bang framing his face, so much in the eyes, too much, not enough.

"Go home, Sephiroth," he says quietly, gently. "Forget it..."

He doesn't reply, his hand moving as if on its own, sliding into that mass of red hair, soft and silky flames between his fingers. Genesis' face is so close, so open, so vulnerable with question in his eyes. His skin is smooth, addictive under his thumb, and for a moment, his lips tremble as they search each other's faces, closer, closer until that plush mouth is on his, under his, parted, hot, inviting.

It tastes like fire, like the smoke of precious incense, heady and potent, all-consuming like the flames of Hell, Genesis' tongue soft and slick against his, his breath sweet and scalding. The kiss shivers through him, slow, deep, yearning, and he pushes the redhead away like he's been bitten by a poisonous snake. Maybe he was.

"How _dare_ you?" Sephiroth asks with barely contained rage, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The next moment, he is torn between his anger and the want to reverse everything, to pull Genesis between his arms and shift them back to mere moments ago where he couldn't see the sadness, disappointment and shock in those blue eyes. But then, in less than a blink, it's all gone, hidden under even more defiance as Genesis steps just a bit away, those hips swaying as though they earn his living. Which is exactly what they do, Sephiroth reminds himself bitterly.

"And how dare _you_?" The tone is accusatory, but also mocking, which seems to be the redhead's default state when he's hurt, but it's also too annoying, and Sephiroth is far too shocked to react sensibly to the entire situation. "Rat holes don't like holier than thou like yourself, _father_. Now, if you'll excuse me, bacon won't bring itself home on its own." With a simple turn, Genesis is already leaving the room, and Sephiroth might have tried to stop him, if he had the time. Like this, the priest remains frozen there, listening to loud music cut his ears for a second, then stop as the door swings back shut, his arm extended towards it, but it's too late now. Too late.

Sephiroth ends up waiting, for a few moments thinking Genesis might reconsider, but once he pulls himself together and gets back to the loud, the crowd, heat and sin, the redhead seems nowhere to be found. And Sephiroth doesn't remain looking, because he's furious and he needs to vent. And there's only one person who truly is to blame, for everything, until the end.

* * *

"Angeal." The word is simple, an accusation as much as a call, but the sound of door shutting after it is not. Angeal jerks himself from the letters on the page, leaves the book on the table as he rushes towards the sound, thinking something is amiss. Of course, seeing his friend's face so hurt, so furiously bitter, confirms more than that, and Angeal sighs, partly with relief that no one seems to be dead, and partly because Sephiroth still comes to him first when he needs to confess something pressing his heart.

"He's working again."

And Angeal blinks, buys himself some time to think this through. "Why do you care?"

The question takes Sephiroth by surprise, and he pauses, right in the middle of taking his coat off, still furious and flushed from the freezing cold outside, as well as the feelings he obviously doesn't fully comprehend. Lucky for him, Angeal thinks. He sometimes wishes to have been sheltered as much. There is perhaps a second of pure honesty, innocence on that face, but quickly Sephiroth pulls himself together, as he pulls his scarf off his neck, and suddenly, Angeal realizes, he's much less beautiful than in those short sheltered moments he sometimes succumbs to.

"And why wouldn't I? It's my job to..."

"Your _job_?" Angeal can't but joke about it. Something as holy as the call, and Sephiroth hides behind sheer professionalism. The Cardinal surely trained him well. "I suppose it's the job you care for then, is it not? Your personal failure incarnated standing right there, reminding you that there's no..."

"He kissed me." There was certainly nothing that could have stopped Angeal's accusatory rambling as these three words. They seem to have frozen him in time, and he just stares as Sephiroth's cheeks remain crimson, and Angeal wonders whether it's really the cold, or...

The moment Angeal manages to pull himself together, he allows his body a long sigh, then he leans to the armrest of the sofa, the closest thing he can find to keep his knees from failing him, because that would be much more embarrassing right now than simple jealousy he seems to be incapable of hiding.

"And how do you feel about it?" Angeal tries to keep his voice warm, but the reaction he gets is far from it. Sephiroth stares at him in bewilderment, eyebrows sliding up as he laughs, quite dryly at that.

"I did not regard my affinities towards an obvious violation, Angeal, don't be preposterous," Sephiroth lies, or at least Angeal hopes he does. He's too hard to read sometimes.

"I'm well aware of the fact that Genesis has his..." Angeal makes a gesture with his arms, and it looks a bit grotesque, albeit meaningless enough. "But are you actually telling me that nothing happened between you that might have prompted him to..." Angeal realizes his voice is much louder than he'd like it to be, and Sephiroth seems terrified of the reaction he most certainly did not predict, not even in his wildest dreams. He tries to keep himself together, because Sephiroth mustn't see him being torn at the seams. "Are you alright?"

Sephiroth ends up chuckling, dryly once more, but definitely far more comfortable than just a minute ago. "Don't exaggerate its meaning, it was just a kiss."

"A kiss between two men," Angeal warns gently.

"It meant nothing," Sephiroth attacks, but to him attack is the best defensive strategy.

"Nothing?" Angeal repeats, needs to assure himself, seems more likely. "Absurd as it may seem, this was your first kiss, Seph, was it not?" He pushes teasing into the words, but fails miserably, and hopes to God Sephiroth doesn't notice it.

"Absurd as it may seem," Sephiroth offers flatly. "Why do I have the feeling you're digressing on purpose? We offered him a place to stay, a shelter, a _home_, and yet the first chance he gets..."

"You can't save everyone," Angeal interrupts with a sigh. "I sure as hell know I've tried."

Sephiroth folds his arms over his chest. "Forgive me for being blunt, but I can't exactly say you broke your back over helping your friend."

"I have more than one friend, Seph," Angeal ends up blurting out, and he hates himself for liking honesty more than lies. It's been too long anyway. "Besides, Genesis knows our door is always open to him. We can't tie him up to the bedpost, despite the fact it'd keep him off the street."

"If this were you, I can't think of a moral or legal boundary that would stop me from saving you," Sephiroth interrupts, sounding as though he's back in seminary, and Angeal can't help but laugh.

"I can," Angeal adds, and hates himself for it, enough to need to break away, so he pulls himself from his half seated position and tries to flee the room, even though he feels Sephiroth's scrutinizing gaze upon his back.

"You're a pathetic excuse of a friend." Sephiroth is hurt, confused, bitter, and Angeal knows it, but some words just sting too much.

"When will you stop seeing the world as your own personal playground?" he snaps, voice far too loud for this hour. "When will you realize that there are things greater than you, things you have no effect on whatsoever? Stop trying to be a god damned dictator in the name of justice!"

"And why don't you stop putting Genesis on a pedestal?" Sephiroth snaps back, much more collected than Angeal could ever dream to be. "Just because you see wings on his back doesn't make him an angel. They don't sell their bodies for money."

"Oh, shut up!" Angeal snaps, screams at him, and Sephiroth obeys out of pure shock. He has never seen his friend lose his temper so much before, that much is obvious, and Angeal wishes he hadn't, but it's too late now. "You speak of things you know nothing about!"

Sephiroth opens his mouth, but Angeal goes on without giving him a chance to defend himself.

"Have you any idea what he has been through? Do you honestly _think_ he is doing it because it's so much fun?"

"I..." Sephiroth starts, but Angeal turns away with a bitter chuckle.

"I can't expect you to understand," he shakes his head, and Sephiroth feels so much weaker, so much more _human_, guilty. "I shouldn't have screamed at you."

"Why, sorry for wasting your time, father. I will not impose my _incapability_ on you any longer," Sephiroth responds, acid in his tone, but he is past the point of caring. If this is all Angeal regards him as, then what is the point?

He turns to leave, but Angeal's voice stops him after a few steps.

"Seph, you must know that I..."

The phone rings shrill and indifferent, cutting his sentence, and with a sigh, Angeal walks to the side table and picks up, eyes on Sephiroth, silently apologising.

"Father Hewley speaking."

He should probably just go, leave after all Angeal had said to him, but Sephiroth finds himself just standing there, waiting for whatever revelation was just underway. He sees clearly as worry spreads on that powerful face, just to turn into full blown terror a second later.

"Is he all right? Yes. I will be right there. Thank you," he puts down the receiver slowly, still trying to shake off his shock. Then he looks at Sephiroth, his voice faltering. "Genesis has been hospitalised."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**We are sorry for the long wait. Both of us is working full time now, so things have slowed down a little, but bear with us. :) ****Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged.  
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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****5: Murder  
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* * *

The lobby is busy despite the late hour, people waiting at the sides or rushing by dressed in medical green. Angeal approaches the desk without hesitation and he follows a little abashed, eyes darting around. It seems so surreal, the huge room bathed in harsh artificial light, like a brightly lit glass bubble against the darkness of the starless night, and the two of them in it. It feels wrong, disturbing, a barely conscious realisation that the things one only reads about in a newspaper, they _do_ happen.

"I've been informed that a young man by the name Genesis Rhapsodos had been bought here," Angeal's voice startles him from his thoughts, and it makes his heart turn to see the haunted worry etched to the face of his companion.

"Just a second," the woman behind the counter says, typing something and checking the screen. She has patches of discoloured skin on her forearms, revealing more on her neck as she turns tired but gentle eyes at them again. "He's been treated by Dr. Talbott, she's..."

"Right here, taking over. Thank you, Reese," the low, headstrong voice comes from behind, making them both turn. The woman is short and round with huge clip earrings and red cheeks, energetic and professional despite it being so late.

"Dr. Talbott?" Angeal asks, stepping closer.

"Lillian," she offers a hand, but she freezes as realisation starts to sink in. "_Father_?"

"How is he?" Angeal takes the offered hand, holding it as though it's a lifeline.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise..." her gaze travels between the two of them, and it doesn't take much to see what a mother hen she is, suddenly fussing over Angeal. "If I had known, I wouldn't have bothered you, father, but yours was the only phone number he carried on him, so I just asked Reese here to call... I had no idea, otherwise, I wouldn't have bothered you..."

"No, really, I appreciate it, Dr. Talbott," Angeal assures, and it seems to pull her back down to earth and professionalism.

"Lillian, please. This way," she leads them along a corridor, the windows and doors old, the green linoleum worn grey in the middle by countless footsteps. "A passer by found him in an alley beaten and unconscious and called the ambulance when he wouldn't come around. He's awake now and his condition is stable. Thank God it's nothing serious. Painful, but not serious."

"So he'll be all right?" Angeal's relief is tangible in the overheated, stuffy, medical air of the hospital.

"Perfectly. If he's lucky, the burns will completely fade and he won't have a single reminder."

"Burns?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, and he can see Angeal wince.

"Cigarettes, father."

"What a depraved animal you must be to do something like that." Sephiroth notices a moment too late that he voiced his thought aloud, and she just gives him a quizzical look before turning back to Angeal.

"We'll keep him here tonight, and if nothing happens, he is free to leave," she stops by a badly painted, white door, slightly ajar and faint lamplight seeping through the crack.

"Thank you, doctor. Was he...?" Angeal lets the question linger in the air, unable to voice it, but the dread in his eyes speaks volumes, and there is a spark of understanding in hers.

"No, he wasn't sexually assaulted, if that is what worries you. You can go in, if you want to," a warm smile, and she is off in a swirl of white.

Angeal's shoulders are stiff as he turns towards the door, craning his head to look back at Sephiroth. "Would you mind staying here a bit?" he asks close to a whisper, and the younger priest can't decide if he should be relieved or offended, but he shakes his head anyway. Allowing Angeal some time alone with his... what is it now, friend, protegé, a shard of the past he refuses to let go of? It's only fair, right? If only something wouldn't tighten in his chest as the door closes with a soft click.

* * *

  
It is probably a meagre couple of minutes, but it feels like hours. Hours in which he can't do anything but roam the length of the stifling corridor, every breath heavy with the scent of medicine and disinfectant. They're strong enough to cover blood and things Sephiroth doesn't even want to think about. He can't, really, because his mind is far too occupied with what's going on through the door he can't peel his eyes off.

Are they talking; is Genesis crying and finally apologizing, or are they fighting because the redhead just cannot, for once, win over his own pride? He's not eavesdropping, but still feels a pang of guilt because nothing penetrates through the door, as cheap as it is, and he's turning into a prisoner of his own mind.

Time passes by slowly, endless seconds broken by the sounds of rubber wheels turning over linoleum, feet in clogs click clacking through what seems to be the entire floor. People walk in and out of different rooms, be it the staff, the family members of patients themselves, but there's one door that seems to be disappointingly shut.

Until it finally opens and Sephiroth realizes he'd rather continue residing silently within himself than have to face Angeal breaking at the seams. He closes the door gently, forces a smile to his lips even though his eyes speak volumes. His fists are clenched in spite the fact that his stride is shy, determined, and maybe just _because_ of that.

"Is he...?" Sephiroth tries in a whisper, but the green tone of Angeal's skin tells him not to go on. And suddenly, the flow of time turns its other face and Sephiroth doesn't even remember how they've gotten to the roof of the hospital, or at least its highest floor with the only balcony on which smoking is allowed.

Angeal lights the cigarette he borrowed off the nurse with an apologetic, conflicted smile, and Sephiroth watches, doesn't comment. The man looks like he really needs it.

He inhales the smoke, his fingers are trembling. The sizzle of the tobacco is the only sound, but not even the night lasts forever, let alone the cigarette.

"A short while back his parents died. That swine of a foster father he had finally ended up burning down the house killing everyone inside, including himself. Suitable end to the bastard who liked to use his kid as his personal ashtray, if you ask me," Angeal starts in a monotone voice, the words gaining speed and determination slowly but surely. His eyes are firmly glued to the floor before him and for once, it doesn't bother Sephiroth. It seems easier this way.

He wished to know everything, but now that Angeal is spilling it all out in front of him, he is not that sure he wants to. But Angeal keeps on speaking, and he has not the will to interrupt. In a way, it is too much like a confession.

"After a while, you get used to seeing the bruises, the burns... The teachers knew, but they never said a word. He learned it too soon not to expect anyone to care, to act like it was nothing, even if everybody knew better. And then I..." his voice breaks and Sephiroth can hear himself hiss in a breath. "How could you... even fathom..." Angeal lowers his head, shoulders convulsing with a shallow sob, and Sephiroth stands there frozen as it finally sinks in. Angeal is crying.

His Peter, his _rock_... crying.

"Angeal," he whispers, bewildered and hurt, his hand squeezing that powerful shoulder before he realises he moved.

"I pray the Lord to forgive me all the horrible grievances I've caused him," Angeal chokes in a fervent whisper, looking as though he has forgotten Sephiroth is there, the overwhelming guilt in the older priest's voice enough to freeze up his throat.

"We are all masters of our own destinies," Sephiroth whispers, hoping it doesn't sound like empty words, even though he himself isn't sure of that.

"Oh, will you shut up?" Angeal spits at him, returns to the cigarette now almost done, his hand shaking as he tries to aim to his lips. Sephiroth wonders whether he should call the nurses just in case. Angeal seems closest to a breakdown Sephiroth has ever seen him, and looking at the void, Nietzsche seems to have had a point there.

"Please, my friend," Sephiroth decides to give it another try, voice much softer, much more personal. He wants to help, he really _wants to_, but these are things he just doesn't understand. And realizing life is not just black and white hits him more than having to listen about it. "Don't hold it in. Share your pain."

"Oh, _God_," Angeal finally breaks, and it seems to be a wail as much as a desperate plea. Why Sephiroth has such a hard time letting someone so close and important to him into an embrace, he doesn't wish to spend these precious seconds thinking about. But really, it's more like a fight than an hug, even though Angeal seems too broken to notice. Sephiroth at least hopes so, as much as he hates himself because of it all.

He lets Angeal go through all of this, even though it's getting chilly and his back is turning stiff in such a position. But Angeal needs it, he keeps on telling himself, so he must go on, he must fight too. He also knows they won't be mentioning this incident after tonight anyway, so if Angeal needs to cry in someone's embrace, Sephiroth will keep on offering.

Sometime later, Angeal manages to pull himself together, and he almost looks guilty as he wipes his cheeks with the backs of his hands, and God only knows it's cold enough to freeze the water, being winter and so late in the night. Maybe that's why Angeal is still shaking, even though his face is unreadable.

"Can you stay with him?" he asks then and Sephiroth wants to protest, because this just doesn't seem right. "He needs me sane, what good would it do to him to see me like this?"

"You have a point," Sephiroth says and Angeal seems hurt for merely a second before he pulls his mask back on. "I'll tell him you've been called in by someone, I'll..."

"Yeah, sure, just lie for me," Angeal adds with enough cynicism to coat even this dreadful cold night.

Sephiroth decides to smile instead of commenting, even though the words burn. "Do you need me to call anyone?" Angeal vehemently shakes his head. "Are you sure?"

"I'll just go have a shower and try and sleep a bit, see him once I stop looking like a drowned body." Angeal laughs dryly at himself, then rushes back into the hospital without another word. Lies, lies, all of it, but Sephiroth can't blame him. If he needs to run away, that will be his creed. Right now, there's another broken man that might need a friend, and Sephiroth walks back into the warm hallway and seats himself onto the sofa closest to Genesis' room. He still can't push himself to go in, telling himself the redhead is surely sleeping and it wouldn't be proper to disturb a healing man. Maybe he's just afraid, but he's not thinking about this now.

About four hours and three bitter machine coffees later, as it starts dawning through the old windows of the hospital, he finally pulls enough strength to press the handle of that door.

* * *

  
"Genesis," he says, his voice the usual impassioned one, but there is something there, something worried and weak. Azure eyes flutter open and there is relief for a second, until his eyes take in everything, the bandages, the purple-tinged bruises, the spots where cigarette butts bit into perfect skin like ugly stigmas. "Genesis," he repeats just for the sake of saying something.

If only the redhead wouldn't look so fragile, so damn vulnerable between the white sheets... if only those shimmering blues wouldn't be so dull, filled with so much broken hatred. That is what stops his hand reaching out for him, and in the end it lands on the cover, just a mere few inches away from Genesis'.

He is not touching him, so this is fine, perfectly normal. Just like that he is no way wishing Genesis would move his hand and close the distance between them. Compassion is a virtue.

"Why did you come here?" the redhead finally asks, and Sephiroth refuses to think about what makes that voice so raspy. Maybe it's sleep. Maybe it's not.

"I," he starts, but the words are stuck in his throat, eyes finding the grey wall behind Genesis just a bit too interesting all of a sudden. It's perplexing, even though it shouldn't be, just how wrong a simple 'I wanted to see you' sounds, just how dry his lips are.

Genesis closes his eyes then, a sigh escaping slightly parted lips. "If you came to tell me how this is God's punishment for my sins, I would rather you left."

"No," Sephiroth's eyes widen, searching the man's face. He is hoping for something, a wry little smile perhaps, something that would tell him it's just the usual teasing, that it's all right. But Genesis doesn't look anything like it, just bitter and exhausted. For the first time, Sephiroth notices the pale hollows under his eyes, the translucency of his skin over bone, and he reaches out to feel it, but Genesis pulls away from the touch.

"Isn't that what you should tell me? How it is my own fault, for I have sinned through my own volition, but you, you are willing to offer me pardon, redemption if I just admitted it?"

"I just came to ask you whether you'd like some tea from the machine in the hallway," Sephiroth whispers, hands clenched into fists so his fingers wouldn't be shaking, and Genesis laughs with enough melody to melt even Sephiroth's heart.

"I have more taste than that," Genesis whispers, then taps the free space on the mattress next to him. "Sit down."

Sephiroth pulls a chair closer instead, ignoring the snoring sounds coming from the other side of the screen splitting the room in two. It is late anyway. Or better to say, early.

"Where's Angeal?" It's the only question Sephiroth would like to have prepared an answer to, but sadly, nothing comes to his mind.

"Father Hewley was... called back into the parish..." he tries and Genesis rolls his eyes.

"Spare me," he snaps. "Are you here to help me get home, or just chaperoning, then? Make sure I don't get into more trouble?"

"Genesis," Sephiroth whispers warmly, hopes it's enough to pull that jesty tone away. "I'm here because I'm seriously concerned about you."

"Unlike _father Hewley_, you mean?"

"It was too much for him," Sephiroth finally says and it's obvious Genesis appreciates the honesty.

"So, taking me home then?" he asks and Sephiroth is close to rolling his eyes. He's barely keeping them open anyway, and yet the redhead just can't stop trying to push his buttons.

"If the doctor discharges you, then yes, I can call Angeal to bring us the car-"

"I can take the bus," Genesis interrupts, small smile turning wider on his lips, and much more cynical. "Honour among the thieves, I presume. Not a single punch under the waistline." Sephiroth visibly cringes, and Genesis decides to drop his attempts at shocking him.

* * *

  
Genesis smiles cheekily. "There's chocolate in the fridge," he whispers, hopeful. Sephiroth doesn't want to leave his side, but a request is a request.

He leaves in the direction Genesis had pointed, refusing to linger on the sorry state of things in this little place. Sure, the walls could use some fresh paint, and he's almost certain he'd seen a few bugs but still, the kitchen seems impeccably clean. There are two cupboards there, with a stove whose colour practically seems complementary to them, and the refrigerator looks tiny.

He opens it, chuckling as he sees an almost direct copy of what they have at home. _Had_, he needs to remind himself, because theirs is obviously empty now, and Angeal isn't the type to go grocery shopping at night. He might have been a complete wreck last night, but he still had enough strength to fill up Genesis' food supplies.

He spots a wrapping of something imported, probably expensive. He takes it, and by weight it's easy to tell half of the chocolate is gone. With a small smile, he returns to the bedroom.

Genesis already has a blanket over him, the Vulgate on his lap, as always. He glances up and can't hide his joy upon eying the wrapping.

"I see Angeal had already restocked your supplies," Sephiroth says casually and Genesis taps the top of his mattress impatiently.

"He fusses too much," Genesis says at last, breaking one row off. "I can take care of myself." The underlying bitterness isn't lost on Sephiroth.

"Yes," Sephiroth quickly adds with the intention of saying more, but decides against continuing. He even hates himself for this slip. He hates himself for thinking it.

"Chocolate?" Genesis offers, obviously pretending he didn't notice anything.

"You have nothing, and yet you offer me..."

"Oh, get off your high horse," Genesis interrupts with an eye roll. "Saint Martin of Tours offered half of his mantle to a beggar when he had nothing else to give. I might be no saint, but that doesn't give you the right to think me less capable."

Sephiroth tries to hide it, but an embarrassed smile surfaces to his lips. There is just something in Genesis that shames him over and over again, makes him want to reach out to him, though he does not know exactly why.

"Besides, what am I supposed to do, ignore you drooling over my mattress?" the redhead adds with a tint of humour, holds out the bar in silent invitation.

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Sephiroth finally says and takes the tiniest of pieces. If Genesis noticed it, he doesn't comment.

"Thank you," he says after a few minutes of silence, relaxing back in his pillow.

"It's..." Sephiroth starts, but a small head shake freezes him.

"You didn't need to be here," Genesis continues, slides his palm over Sephiroth's, resting on the sheet. "I know I've caused nothing but trouble lately, and..."

"Why?" Sephiroth can't keep this inside. "Why not ask help? There are ways..."

Genesis rolls his eyes but, Sephiroth notices, the palm still remains over his.

"I can't thank you enough," Genesis starts then, voice a whisper. Sephiroth freezes, and he keeps on telling himself that's exactly why he's not pulling back. "I don't think I'd be able to stay here alone."

Sephiroth sighs, hating the fact that nobody ever bothered to prepare him for this. Go to the common folk, they said, like our Lord. And yet, here he is in what seems to be a not so uncommon situation and he's at a complete loss of words. "Angeal will be here soon," he lies; nobody really knows that anymore.

Genesis laughs bitterly. "Trust me, he won't."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Did I ever tell you we were lovers?" It's like a cut across the throat, clean as a bloody mess and equally effective. "He never told you, did he?" Genesis continues with a hurt grimace. "Well, I'm not surprised, really."

"He's not like that," Sephiroth quickly finds himself on the defensive side. "You can't even fathom how much he cares for you. Why do you think I ended up poking my nose where it needn't be?" He chuckles even, a bit embarrassed with the revelation. "You seem to be the only person, besides our Lord," he quickly adds, though he's not sure for whose sake exactly, "that he fully, deeply cares about."

"And it's making you jealous, isn't it?" Genesis whispers then, so very blankly. Sephiroth wants to hurt, bite back, yell, _leave_, but he knows too damned well it's not meant as an insult. It just is.

"I confess it did make me... unnerved to see my years with him suddenly meaning so very little."

"Unnerved," Genesis lets a bitter chuckle slip, eyes leaving his and staring at something that isn't there. "Then you and I have a lot more in common than you might think."

"I just told you how much..."

"Who are you looking for? Their answer was, Jesus the Nazarene. Jesus said, I am he. And Judas, who was false to him, was there at their side," Genesis whispers, pretty features twisting with anger as he grabs the empty mug Sephiroth had brought tea in and throws it against the wall, shattering it.

For a moment Sephiroth is too shocked by the sudden change of mood to do anything but look on with wide eyes as the redhead curls in on himself, body shaking with unspoken pain and rage. For a moment, he just feels tired of not knowing what is going on around him, not knowing what to say or how to help.

Restless, he shifts closer, concern, _pain_ taking over. It feels so inappropriate somehow, like he is witnessing something he has no right to see, the crumbling of insatiable pride. When he lifts his hand it's awkward, hesitant, feelings he is not used to, but placing it on that slender back feels too right not to.

He strokes slowly, feeling the sharpness of vertebrae under his fingertips like frozen waves, lean muscles taut even as their trembling slowly subsides. Genesis' body is solid and warm under his palms, and when those bottomless blue eyes search out his, he is lost.

* * *

  
A long day, a sinful kiss, a fight with Angeal, a shock and a night spent awake in a hospital; Sephiroth doesn't even remember the moment he blacks out. It's just, at one point he is there, and at the next, the sun seems to have set already and he's kissing Genesis. He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't.

The tip of his index finger slides down Genesis' chin, head falling back, neck opening, lips whispering something as the throat purrs, muscles tensing.

He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't _do it_.

His palm slides down the ribs. Genesis hisses at one bruise, still swollen, still hot. Then again, Genesis is fire. Fire in human skin. There's a small voice in the back of Sephiroth's head that is screaming at him to stop, but he just can't listen to it, not with the sudden wave of feelings that Genesis' body seems to stir in his own.

He shouldn't do it.

He feels fingers comb his long hair, head being tugged closer, the spice, the heat, the wet skin and he licks the sweat off it, kisses it gently, bruise by bruise, rib by rib, inch by inch.

He shouldn't.

"Please," Genesis whispers, but it's more like a mantra. Please, stop? Please, continue?

Sephiroth doesn't know. Logic still forces him to take a step back and to think things through, but Genesis' big eyes keep him pinned, his body keeps him close, because Genesis is broken enough to need human contact, and Sephiroth just doesn't know where the limit is anymore.

"Please."

He continues, salty, hot, thick, every inch.

"Please, please, please..."

The hips sway, legs encircle him, thin body like a snake wrapping around him, a python about to swallow him. Teeth scraping his skin, neck, cheeks, chin, ear, a viper ready to poison him.

Sephiroth cannot stop, pushing, sweet friction of two bodies locked together. Genesis knows what he's doing, though his eyes tell he's barely there.

The other part of the bed, the one he'd obviously passed out in, is already cold, sweat soaked sheets freezing. Genesis' skin fills with goose bumps and he laughs, head pushing into the mattress, hips pushing up, waking up some monster in Sephiroth's body, where aggression resides. In spite of all these years of training.

His fingers knead, hands holding more power, lips demanding more, sucking, biting, pulling in. Like they're covered with snow and he needs this... this heat, this life.

"Please," Genesis continues, jaw contracting, face a grimace, he wants more. So much more. "I need to feel you."

"I don't-" Perhaps a second more and he would have sobered up, but Genesis continues, tongue invading, hands exploring, fingers finally circling around the erection and Sephiroth sees the stars, he wouldn't be able to pull away now even if he wanted. And he doesn't. All he wants is to give the same pleasure to the other.

How can that be wrong?

"Please." It's not need anymore, but pain. Palm sliding down that chest, trembling belly, Sephiroth pushes his fingers through the coarse curls, sharp, so different from the hair. So red.

In a way, it's like he's playing an instrument, his every movement pulls different sounds through that throat. It seems so beautiful he doesn't want it to stop. Having so much power over someone... no wonder humans are so weak.

So absorbed in their passion, the need to fill the voids the other is missing, the ultimate gift that God gave men, they don't even notice the barely audible creak of the apartment door as it is finally pulled shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**A/N: Slow update is slow. This chapter needed a massive rewriting, but now we are happy with it, and hope you'll be too. :)**

* * *

**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****6: Adultery  
**

* * *

He always thought a mortal sin wouldn't be much different from stabbing a knife into healthy flesh, sharp, painful, strong, impossible. He always thought he'd know it – exactly what he'd done; why he'd done it and how to compensate for it.

Coming home under the cold winter rain that froze just after touching the ground, all he is certain of is that he's tired. He feels as though someone put his entire body into honey, and he can't move his limbs without hurting himself, manage enough strength to swim to the surface. He's choking, but in slow motion, because he's reliving those images in his mind over and over again.

Genesis, so torn, bruised and _happy_, feeling accomplishment and the need he'd denied so long it became an obsession. Like a starving man needs food, he jumped into into that bed, still knowing he was not going to see the morning light. That would have been an easier option; instead of this.

Angeal is still sleeping, or avoiding him, but it doesn't really matter. He hangs the wet coat by the door and discards his soaked shoes. Carrying socks in his hands, he tries to be as quiet as possible while running into the comfort of his room. He should shower, he knows that, but he just can't muster any strength. Instead, once heat returns to his room, he kneels before the cross and looks at that lifeless metallic face that even denies him tears in this time of need.

_Oh God, I need to feel that I have forgiveness from You. So often my good intentions do not become what I want them to be..._

Empty. No matter how hard he tries, there is no comfort coming from the cross blessed by so many zealous thoughts and hands. There is nothing to soothe the sudden misery, the feeling of abandonment in the cold of that small room, devoid of any warmth of another. There is nothing in that face that would heal him, even as his eyes start to sting and his throat constricts with too much sorrow, too much pain.

_If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness._

No condolence. No hope. No salvation.

Empty.

Genesis' face, smoothed over with content, asleep, finally at peace with the world and himself.

_Help me feel this goodness, and strengthen me to... and strengthen me... strengthen..._

His fingers entwine and clutch to one another, both palms forming one fist as he starts shaking because there's something that wants to break inside. And then he yells, "Talk to me, you son of a**—**" but he stops himself in an instant, presses the fists to his forehead and silently begs forgiveness which refuses to come.

* * *

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

It would be so laughable if that melodic voice wouldn't sound so tortured, so hollow.

_A resounding gong or a clanging cymbal._

Angeal just sighs. Some crosses are just harder to bear. "Confess your sins." He skips 'my child' for obvious reasons and something passes over Genesis' eyes that makes him regret it.

"I lusted for another."

"Genesis..." Angeal interrupts, sighing the words as quietly as he can. He looks at the redhead through the wooden lace, face so unreadable, far too used at hiding his true emotions. Angeal smiles for both of them as he tugs the small door to open and he steps outside, into the dry air cooled by stone. Genesis quickly follows, and now that proper light falls to his delicate features, Angeal sees how torn he really is. "Come with me," he whispers and slides his palm to the low of Genesis' back, hoping it would serve just a little comfort. Cheap comfort.

They don't speak all the way through the old church as well as their living quarters, until Angeal closes the door of his bedroom behind them.

"I came here to destroy you," Genesis whispers, like an avalanche needing to happen. "I came to..." he doesn't finish, his throat is too dry after the warm smile Angeal greets him with.

"I know," Angeal whispers, almost affectionately, and he wants to extend his hand, cup Genesis' cheek. But he doesn't.

"And you let me in?" Genesis' voice is so accusing, full of rage pent up over the years. "You knew and you let me into your _life_? You know _nothing_!"

"Maybe I don't," Angeal says, tries to keep calm because too many things have happened as of late. But there were not enough hours in the day to think them over. "I was there. I saw it." It hurts just saying it, but it must be done. "Last night."

Genesis' face doesn't change a tiny bit. "And you let me in," he says as flatly as though he's choosing bread in the bakery.

Angeal nods ever so slightly, now fighting his own inner torrents. "And how could I live with myself if I saw how much you needed me and then denied you that?"

Genesis laughs, eyes glassy, almost red, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from constant nervous biting. "You haven't changed a bit," he says with forced humour.

"If that were only true," comes a response, a bit darker than expected and Genesis just presses closer, demands, _needs_ an embrace more than anything he'd ever needed in his life.

They squeeze tight, two men who had been lovers a lifetime ago. If the world only knew.

"I should have known," Angeal continues through the feeling of something twisting his throat. "I should have seen it coming."

"Shut up," comes the order, far too welcomed from the other. "No more lies." It's a definite wrong thing to say, and Angeal pulls back to stare at Genesis with surprise.

"I never**—**" he starts but one head shake from his childhood friend makes him grow quiet in an instant.

"Not you, you saint," he teases but it's cynical, forces a laughter where the other smiles awkwardly. "I came to rip your life to shreds," he continues in a much calmer tone, still anxious for the broken embrace, but Angeal needs to hear it all first. "Now I just want to stay."

"There's nothing I'd want more," Angeal defends with a smile, far too warm, far too fake.

"But?" Genesis quickly asks, eyes changing again.

"I'm a priest, Gen, a**—**" he doesn't finish it, not because of Genesis' curses and screams, or even his tears. He doesn't give anything like that, but something much deeper, much more horrifying. His face just changes from despair to disgust and then defeat.

"And you expect me to be proud now?" he asks with bare whisper, before quickly getting up from his seat. Something shifts in that beautiful face again. "I fucked him," he says, as though it bears repeating, enjoying his old self a bit too much; bitchy, proud, spiteful. "_Him_! Your little personal project. I'm sure you invested so much time in him, but the way he _moans_," he stops, instantly after Angeal manages to look at him.

"Please, stop this," he begs. "This isn't you."

"And it's like you to be in love with a fellow priest?" Genesis says accusingly. "It's like you to dream of that skin all night then pretend it's just an accident in the morning? Can you just imagine that deep, dark baritone call your Lord's name in vain as he shoves his cock deep**—**"

"_Enough_!" Angeal yells, flushed with anger and things he'll never manage to forget.

Genesis smiles, in spite the anger electrifying the air around him. "Envy is a mortal sin, _father_," he whispers with pride and walks away, hips swaying with just enough knowing seduction.

* * *

When Sephiroth arrives home from the evening mass it's already late. He places the grocery on the table while he gets rid of the thick coat misted over by a light drizzle of rain. Checks the mailbox, throws out the flyers and returns to meticulously put all the things he brought away. Just stick to the routine, it makes everything so much easier. He is glad it's Angeal's turn for confessions. It allows him precious time to be alone, and he needs it more than ever before. He is not quite ready to face his oldest friend. Especially not after...

Sugar into the cupboard, eggs into the fridge.

There is thick semi-darkness in the rooms, but he doesn't bother to make light. It's comforting, somehow, to be covered in this shroud, soft, warm. Hide.

"Hello, Sephiroth."

He almost drops the jar of jam he is holding as that familiar voice seep through the dark, startling him.

"Angeal is not here," he says without turning around, clutching the glass so tight it might break.

"I know." There is something so wrong with that voice, so deeply, intrinsically troubling.

Like cigarette bites on skin.

He shudders inside, each word like a whiplash to open wounds. He tries to force an answer, but the words seem stuck in his throat, all that he can think about sounds pretentious, fake. The silence stretches around them cold and uncomfortable, until he finally turns, determined to face this flame of temptation, so dark, so debauched.

The sight is like a slap across the face, Genesis' thin body against the door frame, like a simple touch could snap him in two, his face pale, blank. It awakens the same foolish desire again, the urge to help, to make the dead mask go away, but he has learnt from his mistakes.

The Devil comes in so many shapes and forms.

The redhead's gaze connects with his, and he wonders, how could he not see it until now? Those azure eyes like gates of hell, lost souls howling from their depths.

"I think you should leave, Genesis."

The answering chuckle is like rusty iron, a choking gasp, a cry of a raven, all in one.

"Perhaps, I should."

Sephiroth waits for him to say something, to leave, but Genesis doesn't seem interested. So he chuckles in spite himself, hoping to break the tension that's in the air. "We needed groceries," he chitcats and grabs the nearest box. "I bought more earl grey for Angeal..." He freezes, but it seems like vacation for Genesis.

"He's in his room," the redhead says, then grins, leaning his hip onto the cupboard. Close, so close. "Don't worry, your precious little boy is safe and sound."

Sephiroth shoves the tea into the cupboard, among the other, less used boxes. Genesis steps even closer.

"You saints and your ivory towers," he whispers, looking oh so vulnerable.

_Sin goes in a disguise, and thence is welcome; like Judas, it kisses and kills..._

"Looking at us petty mortals like we're ants on your lawn." The words are like venom and he presses into Sephiroth, takes him by surprise, lips red and glazed with saliva, so much like... "When you spent yourself all over my arms, I wonder..." Hands wander down Sephiroth's shirt, all happens so quickly. "Was it his name that got stuck in your throat? _Angeal_?" Sephiroth has no idea why that name, together with that _tone_ breaks all self control he possesses. The next moment, he finds the redhead gripping the table, crouched, red print on his chin and lower lip swollen and split, drop of blood on the white of his teeth. And Sephiroth's fist hurts, _burns_, but nowhere nearly as much as whatever it is that's gripping his chest.

Genesis is staring at him with wide eyes, hurt, so much hurt, beyond anything Sephiroth could have ever anticipated. Worse still, so much worse is the betrayal written in those beautiful features, and then Genesis decides to take the safer way out, pulls what's left of his dignity as he laughs. Chin up, proud, far too proud, he leaves and Sephiroth hears his laughter, so crazy, so maniacal down the corridor before he slams the front door shut.

Sephiroth gathers his strength, fights the tears of shame away and pulls himself up. It's like hours pass as he's staring at his fist, not sure whether the small patch of blood is Genesis' or his own, and then he looks up, at the kitchen door and sees Angeal standing there, eyes wide and face unreadable.

"I heard noises," the man says softly and Sephiroth just stares, cheeks crimson with shame, with discovery. "Must have been dreaming."

He doesn't know what happens exactly, that causes him to break as much. His surface cracks, probably invisibly so but Angeal knows him far too well. The next second, Sephiroth is in his arms, embraced tightly, and holding as though for dear life. And somewhere between finding comfort in the scent of that hair and the feel of that familiar body, Sephiroth finds enough strength to whisper, "Is this really what I turned into?"

"Hush," Angeal says, more desperate than anything else. "Hush."

Is it moments that pass? Hours? He cannot tell. All he knows is that he is falling apart and the only thing holding him together is the arms wrapped around him, the blessed silence broken only by heavy breaths as if they are both waiting for morning to banish the horrid nightmare they are caught up in. A part of his body, that has been dormant for so many years until that sinful moment when Genesis had awoken it, stirs; a voice at the back of his head whispering sweet nothings that mean more than anything. It's a disturbing feeling, grotesque image of need, power and fear. And Sephiroth keeps on screaming at the little voice, hoping his own would overpower it, his own self control would make this moment last longer.

He doesn't know when he got to bed or how long it took to succumb to troubled sleep.

Next morning Angeal doesn't mention anything, as though he doesn't remember. And it's killing Sephiroth inside.

_Whatever you did unto one of the least, you did unto Me._

* * *

The sacristy is cold, the heavy, musty scent of age laying over everything. Sephiroth wants to lock the door, but that would be too much; he doesn't deserve privacy after everything. Something broke within him, somewhere between tea and getting ready for the evening mass. Angeal didn't even have the time to try and find out what happened.

He hears the chants in the church, just another stab to the heart. His fingers search for the first bead in the rosary and, on his knees, he starts to pray.

He wants to scream, yell at that cross to answer him, to do _anything_. It physically hurts, but he remains silent.

_Now and at the hour of our death._

He pulls the second bead, mind focused on the words instead of memories.

_Hail Mary, full of grace._

It seemed so right at the time, so helpful, so _good_. But, every temptation does. The sweat, the muscles, those little sighs. Sephiroth had no idea it was possible.

It is always the activity with the sin, the act itself. The big words exploring the mechanics, but never the feelings themselves. It's the physical pleasure, quick gratification of things that should be holy, but no one ever prepared him for the heartache at these little, little sounds, or how much he wanted to _give_ pleasure compared to receiving.

_Pray for us sinners._

Is that really sin? Wanting to see someone else content? Can it be? He just wanted to see Genesis happy, he just wanted to do what Genesis wanted him to. He just wanted to give. He just wanted to give. He just wanted to _give_.

_Blessed art thou among women._

And what he had done instead... It would've been wrong had he done it to anyone else, but to raise his hand against Genesis just went so much farther beyond. Especially after all that he had seen... how could he?

Resist? Give in? He was damned either way.

Angeal shoots through the door like thunder, slamming it behind him, falling to his knees right before Sephiroth, still wearing his formal robe, green, green, green, hope.

"Stop this, Sephiroth, please. It's killing me."

Sephiroth ignores him, tries to keep his eyes shut, tries to focus on the prayer. _Our Father..._

"Talk to me," he hears Angeal say.

_Forgive us our trespasses._

"Talk to me, please."

_Lead us not into temptation._

"Please, Sephiroth..." Angeal places his palms on Sephiroth's cheeks, pressing tightly, pulling his head up. "It's not your fault."

_And the power, and the glory..._

"Pray with me," Sephiroth whispers, moving another bead, still refusing to look at Angeal. "Please."

Angeal doesn't. He hugs Sephiroth instead, and it's the moment where all of it breaks, Sephiroth sobs, but he doesn't let the tears out.

_Hail Mary, full of grace._

"Please, speak to me," Angeal tries and, Sephiroth thinks, he can keep on trying all he likes, but that's one surface he'll never penetrate. Sephiroth is terrified of what lies beneath. And that little voice is back there again, adamant, scratching, gnawing, _suggesting_.

_"__Look at him,"_ it says and Sephiroth resumes shaking his head.

"The Lord is with thee," Sephiroth tries to keep his voice flat.

_"__What would those lips look like parted? Would he moan too?"_

"Sephiroth, please, don't leave me now. Stay with me."

_Pray for us pray for us pray for us..._

"Stay with me!"

_Pray for us._

"Please. I**—**" Angeal whispers to his ear, fights his way to press their foreheads together and Sephiroth doesn't even remember the rosary. Their lips touch, so gently at first, and then with far too much power, too many years of denial behind them. Sephiroth feels weak in his knees, bile rising at the disgust of who he really is, of what he'd done in those few sorry days. And yet, he doesn't stop, but demands more, their breaths heavy and moist.

Anyone can enter...

"No!" Sephiroth yells, jerking away. He's on his feet before Angeal manages to blink. "No, no, no, no, no," he continues, pacing up and down the small room for a few times, until he rushes out, followed by nothing but the sound of his robe flying through the air, dry, Angeal's heavy breaths, warm.

Then nothing.

* * *

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," his voice is thick, and there is no helping it, because there is a weight pressing down on his chest, and the only way to get rid of it is to speak. He needs this, needs someone other than Angeal to talk to, guidance in the truest sense of the word, pure and unbiased.

"Confess your sins," the voice from the other side drawls, and he recognises Hollander without having to turn his head. He would've preferred Reeve, but time is short and Reeve isn't due back for another fortnight.

So this is how it feels like, the thought crosses his head. This is how people approach him, someone they don't know and don't understand, someone who is somehow so overpowering, for their salvation is in his hands. This is how it feels to open his mouth and wait to be judged, wait for the blade to fall, expose the monster inside.

"I have brought shame on my standing as a priest and upon the Holy Church, Father," he whispers, and can hear the old wood creak, the screened sliding door open.

"Sephiroth? What brings you here?"

"I wish to be reconciled. If it is still... possible."

It is hard to keep the facade in place, to look Hollander in the eyes without crumbling. Especially when the man laughs a little.

"You are one of our best, surely, it can't be that bad, can it?" So jovial, so patronizing.

It sickens him. It burns, awakens something that whispers irate defiance in his ear, but he just lowers his head. Pride is just another sin.

"Father, I have broken my vow of celibacy."

Hollander just smiles, looks relieved. "We all go through rough periods during our years, and you are still young..."

"You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination."

There is a gasp, the one that indicates he is their disgrace, the rotten apple in the basket, the black sheep in the flock, and it's just too much, too much, and he has to close his burning eyes to stop their quivering.

Hollander's face pales as the words sink in, contorts with surprise, disgust, horror, anger. So this is how people look at the dragons amongst their midst, he thinks with sudden clarity. The image of the sunlit square before the church flashes before his eyes for a second. Seeing through blue eyes, the cross is mocking his desolation, disdain on the faces of those gathering for prayer no matter where he looks.

Does Genesis feel like that wherever else he looks? The same burden of the cross on his shoulders?

He shouldn't be thinking about this, but somehow there is strength in there that he couldn't find before, and he straightens, lifts his face up, opens his eyes. His voice is quiet, but clear when he speaks.

"I have slept with a man, and had sinful thoughts of another."

Hollander clears his throat, composes his features, settles back against wood.

"Do you... do you express true sorrow over your actions?"

"I..."

_Please._

"Do you?" Hollander raises his voice.

"I do," Sephiroth nods his head, tries not to think about hot skin over his, the taste of sweat and salt on his tongue, lips gasping, parted in extasy.

"Can I talk to anyone else about this?"

"No, I would prefer not."

"Very well then," Hollander says, still obviously upset, but Sephiroth can't make himself to care. "At least promise me you'll come back so that we can discuss this grave issue better. You should isolate yourself, pray and ask for forgiveness."

"I will," he answers simply, then rises to leave. The weight on his chest is lifted now, but the thoughts, the _feelings_ remain just as twisted as before. The whys and the hows and the whats and he looks up briefly as he walks to the door, green sparks of desperation sent to the heavens.

Is there a way to turn everything back?

Irreparable.

From the nearest pillar a badly painted Madonna smiles at him. Still, one more thing to do.

* * *

"Expected you," a voice cuts the air as Sephiroth closes the door behind himself quietly.

"Cardinal." Sephiroth bows his head, walks before the thin old man clad in red sitting on a chair that looks older than time. And far more expensive. He kneels then, takes hold of the extended hand and kisses the heavy ring adorning claw-like fingers.

"I've made all the neccessary preparations," the Cardinal continues, pulling his hand back lazily. Sephiroth looks up, surprised.

"I've come to..."

"Yes, yes, I know, my child," the Cardinal continues, shaking his right hand through the air briskly, stopping the priest mid sentence. "We are all sinners." He leans closer to Sephiroth, small smile adorning those thin lips. "Some rise by sin..." He lets it linger in the air, but Sephiroth seems to refuse to stop staring.

"I told no one..." he whispers, visibly shaken. "No one..."

The Cardinal's smile grows some more, and it looks so threatening, so powerful, among other things. "My dear child, I've invested so much into you. So much _love_, and how would I not try and protect you then?"

"Cardinal Hojo," Sephiroth quickly adds with a shocked grimace. "The sanctity of confession..."

"And the sanctity of priesthood?"

It makes him shiver, the gloating, the acid in that old, crooked voice. But then again, Hojo is right, he has no right to speak. No right to be here in the first place. Only the Cardinal can grant him the shelter, the forgiveness he seeks, blind him to his own sin. It's all he wants, all he needs. Just an arm's length away.

"What should I do?"

The smile is so obviously victorious on that face, so conceited, but Sephiroth's eyes remain downcast, too ashamed at his own downfall. He failed his mentor, there is no denying that.

"I have a place prepared for you, my child. The house has been in the possession of my family for generations, quiet and cut off from the cheap buzz of the city. You can retreat there for as long as it is necessary to get rid of the corruption that devil's whore brought upon you," the heavy ornate ring catches a spark of light with the gesture, mirroring the one in Sephiroth's eyes, but both die out before any words could leave the mouth of the younger priest. This is not the place for defence or arrogant notions.

"You shall leave the wordly temptations behind, my child," the Cardinal continues, satisfied. "You have strayed from your path, but the Lord is gracious. You must pray and fast, purify yourself so that you can be clean again in the eyes of God. You must not meet or interact with anyone but me, lest your thoughts would take a path leading to sin again. You shall fortify yourself against the onslaught of evil, and you shall earn forgiveness..."

Dutifully, Sephiroth bends one knee, holds that bird-like hand to his lips. His chest feels tight, but his voice is steady as he utters his thanks for the chance at redemption. Yet despite the words, all that keeps echoing through his being is a feeling of loss and an odd sense of guilt at what he is about to do.

Angeal's lips. Genesis' passionate body.

He squeezes his eyelids shut, fingers trembling as he casts the sign of the cross before he takes his leave.

Fiat voluntas tua.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**A/N: Ha! We managed an almost Christmas special. :D This chapter is dedicated to all of you, lovely readers! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday!  
**

* * *

**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****7: Theft  
**

* * *

"I came as soon as I could." Reeve says, rubbing his palms together. It's obvious his body is still fighting the climate change, and the jet lag did little to alleviate the problem.

"Here." Angeal places the cup of tea in front of Reeve. "The rolls should be done soon." He smiles at the smell of cinnamon in the air. The man looks positively exhausted with dark green circles under his eyes; skin taking an unhealthy pale glow, even under the tan. He'd been overworked and then, instead of resting for a few days, decided to pack his things and visit Angeal for a week. Like Angeal needs babysitting.

He seats himself opposite of Reeve, one thigh pressed to the radiator; the winter is taking its toll on Angeal's old bones, he thinks and suppresses a snort. "How did the vaccine mission go?" he asks, hoping Reeve would mistake his cynicism for this instead.

"Quite all right," Reeve says, entwines his fingers under the cup and keeps it near his face, as though his very life force is leaking out to the cold and he needs to fight hard to keep it. "Poor children, they need every last penny we can save."

Angeal laughs and Reeve looks at him with confusion in his eyes. "So when exactly did you find out that Durex started making cheap generic drugs?" Reeve chokes on his tea and spends a few seconds fighting for air and Angeal wants to help him all right, but he's too distracted with his own laughter.

"I missed this a lot," Reeve eventually says, big grin on his face as he resumes drinking his tea. "You always had a way with words." Angeal produces the faintest of smiles. "So, what's the plan?"

Angeal blinks. "Plan?" Reeve rolls his eyes.

"The plan to get Sephiroth out of that mad house, what do you _think_?"

"Why do you think I'd want that?" Angeal asks and Reeve looks at him as though he's mad. Maybe he's right, in the mad department at least. Still, he goes on. "He went there willingly, it's not my..."

Reeve rolls his eyes once more, and there seems to be a spark in there that makes him look all the more alive. "So he went back to the man who had practically marked him from the beginning, brainwashing him into believing he's some sort of a super human agent that God Himself placed upon this earth to be adored by us mere mortals? You know what he was like first time he came here, how could you _let_ him?"

"I didn't 'let him' do anything. He's a grown up man, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Ah, yes, let's give _him_ only one way out and ourselves the illusion like he had a choice." Reeve places the cup onto the small kitchen table with a bit too much force and a few drops of the dark liquid spill to the cracked wooden surface. "So, he slept with another man. Big deal, at least he's legal."

"That's low."

"Oh?" Reeve seems to have entered one of his elements. This time, he's argumentative and furious. "I can count, on the fingers of one hand, the priests whom I know for _sure_ have been moved around the country after people started becoming suspicious, so don't tell me..."

"I kissed him," Angeal whispers, and suddenly Reeve freezes, then a small smile appears on those lips, as though it didn't matter. As though he is _glad_. Suddenly, Angeal feels confused, at a loss.

"Well," Reeve tries, clears his throat. "You're adults, I suppose."

"And that's it?" Angeal gasps. Reeve forces a warm smile.

"Sanctity of confession only bans me from repeating, not from remembering things people say. Angeal," Reeve pauses, leans closer over the table. "I've known you having these feelings way before you've admitted them to yourself. Sephiroth was a tougher nut to crack, true," he chuckles, "but one would really have to be a fool not to see the exchange between the two of you. Sure, you might have convinced yourself for years there's nothing to it, but you seem to forget I'm not as dumb as you two wanted to be."

Angeal pauses, shocked. "Well, this is..."

Reeve laughs. "Redundant and amusing surely, but what now?"

"I... I'm not sure I'm of any use to the Church anymore," Angeal continues in a low voice, the accidental knife marks on the wood far more interesting than Reeve's warm eyes. "I'm not sure I want to be, I..."

"Angeal," Reeve tries, keeps his voice warm, so warm, and he slides his palm across to cup Angeal's. The touch is warm, so soothing. "Maybe you shouldn't fight it anymore. Maybe..."

"It's all I ever wanted to be, all my life, all I ever..." Angeal tries, eyes now locked with Reeve's, and it _hurts_.

Reeve smiles once more, the right corner of his lips twitching in a playful way. "I always told you, from my perspective, there's just so much love in me, I could either be a priest or a swinger." And they both laugh, Angeal feeling all the more better as he squeezes his fingers around Reeve's. "This is my nature and I've accepted it. You, on the other hand, seem to be at constant struggle with your choice. You're looking at it backwards. It seems that you want to be a priest because there's nothing else for you out there. If this is your last choice, then maybe you should ask yourself whether this was a choice to begin with."

"So, how does one choose?" Angeal asks and Reeve purses his lips.

"Why do I have a feeling we're not talking about the call anymore?" he asks and Angeal doesn't answer. "Go to him. Please."

* * *

  
His body aches so much, and he knows he shouldn't be abusing his soul's temple, but he can't stop blaming the flesh for the corruption of his mind, so he finds excuses for it. He prays, the rosary in his hands all days long, but the words sound hollow every time he repeats them, while the images seem more real to boot. He fasts until he's incapable of focusing, because that way he's not laden with guilt over the pain he'd caused to everyone; to the Cardinal, to Angeal. To Genesis. To himself.

_Jesus, have mercy on us. Forgive us our sins._

The Cardinal comes to see him almost every day, and they spend their evening supper in silence, slowly sipping soup from the old plates yellowed over the years. Sometimes, Sephiroth tries to talk, but the disdain in Hojo's eyes and the mention of the disappointment he feels every minute of his old life ensures Sephiroth wouldn't even try.

He reads the Bible, screams at the cross, then whispers and begs for forgiveness, but it just refuses to come. He doesn't know whether he's angry at himself for doing it or at the Church for forbidding it.

_Save us from the fires of hell._

There's no phone in the house, of course, and only fields surround it. He always disliked the Nibelheim mansion. Bleak, overwhelming with its strict rules and suffocating in its devoted majesty. It fits the landscape, nothing to see but the sun, icy cold as it is, and frozen dirt. His room is not well heated, but that's just part of the punishment, that's simply so he could remember who governs whom. His body shall obey the mind.

_Take all souls into heaven, especially those most in need of Thy mercy._

At nights, he still dreams of Genesis. And Angeal. And somehow, even the freezing cold of the winter seems all that much warmer. In the morning, he hates himself all over again.

The house has a large library in the basement; books written either by the Cardinal, or one of his peers, the matters on theology, the Scripture and the Lord. Sometimes, when he's bored, he goes through the vast volumes, some of them decades old, some of them barely a few years. Hojo encourages him, even suggests some of the newer books that he knows Sephiroth hadn't gotten his hands onto.

Among the bookshelves, he finds comfort no matter how temporary. It's easy to thread the familiar ground, read the words he'd memorized all those ages ago, having no one to conflict him. Still, he's in doubt, but so were many of the saints, so was the Lord a few times.

He thinks, in one moment of self proclaimed insanity, how this isn't much different than the forty days in the desert. In a way it's making him feel better, knowing the burning would eventually end, and he would walk out of the fire as though reborn, shedding the sins of the past. Only a few more days.

Only a few more days.

_Amen._

One of the shelves is locked, an old dark cherry cabinet with a golden key lock. Sephiroth knows he shouldn't be prying, because it's probably personal, but he makes a mental note to ask the Cardinal during his next visit about this. He's just bored, and idle hands are the tools of the Devil.

* * *

  
Angeal knocks twice, then waits a few seconds before he hears the key being turned in the lock. Genesis opens the door and turns back, seats himself to one of the two chairs in the kitchen and takes hold of his tea. Angeal notices there's another cup opposite him, and the other chair waiting.

It's freezing. Genesis is wearing thick clothing and a jacket on top. Angeal just rubs his palms together and decides against unbuttoning his coat.

"Water pressure's down again," Genesis whispers with a dry smile over the rim of the cup as Angeal looks around the room. "Please, sit." He points to the other free chair, but Angeal doesn't obey.

"You know why I'm here," Angeal decides to stick to the point, because he'd called (he'll never come uninvited to Genesis' place again, ever) and Genesis didn't want to deal with this over the phone. "I'll go see him tomorrow." The corner of Genesis' lip twitches and he tries to hide it with his cup.

"From day one, I blamed you," Genesis starts, decides to ignore Angeal's eyes. "When you left, when you came back, when we..."

"Gen, _please_..." Angeal tries but Genesis just shakes his head, eyes glassy but no more than that.

"You returned to the comfort of your seminary life and left me deal with the fallout. What was I, fifteen? Sixteen?" His voice cracks, but he just sips more tea, as though to soothe it.

"Genesis, I'm _sorry_!" Angeal says a bit too loudly, and he reminds himself the walls are thin, helped by the sound of children feet stomping above them.

"And then I find you, still in your comfortable little church, living your comfortable little life, and you have _no fucking idea_ what I've been through." The little feet stop and Genesis returns to his tea. His palms are shaking, but that's about it. The jacket is thick, and hiding the rest well. "I suggest you go back to your life and let me deal with the fallout on my own terms," he snaps.

"Why can't you listen to me?" Angeal whispers.

"Because I've had enough." Genesis' voice is nothing but a dry whisper.

Angeal approaches the free chair and sits down slowly, soundlessly. "I'm not your enemy. Why can't you just accept that?" He's searching for Genesis' eyes, but no response comes in that respect.

"A sin forgiven is a sin not worth remembering," he replies quietly, but with so much edge, challenge.

"I never stopped loving you." His throat never felt drier, even swallowing hurts.

It's perhaps the first time since Angeal walked in that Genesis looks fragile instead of demonic. But it's just a flash that disappears the next second. "You just started loving another," he snaps once more. "And shifting your priorities." Genesis knows his words are sharper than a scalpel, and it's obvious he revels in that fact. His last line of defense. "Your '_love_' is what got me here, in case you have forgotten."

"I just came here to see you," Angeal whispers, voice as warm as he can keep it within these cold walls. _This is why I always came here_, he thinks but he doesn't say it. "I know my childhood friend is somewhere in there," he tries, but stops before his voice would crack.

Genesis laughs dryly. "Maybe he died. Maybe he froze to death the first winter after he got kicked out of his home."

"He never called it his home," Angeal whispers with a smile.

Once again, Genesis' lips tremble, but it's not fear or sadness; a ghost of a smile wants to crack to the surface but he contains it. "Life happened, Angeal. You can't expect me to go back." And suddenly, the room is much warmer, as though they don't even need heating anymore.

"I expect you to go forward," Angeal says, slides his palm across, entwines his fingers with Genesis', the fabric of his fingerless gloves warm from the cup, so comforting under the touch. "Please, come and see him. With me." Instantly, Genesis shakes his head, and he looks like a broken doll.

"What is it to me?" he lifts his chin haughtily, but his beautiful blue eyes are quivering.

"Don't." A calm answer, as simple as that. So gentle.

"I can't. You know I can't. I'm sorry, Angeal, I'm afraid I'll..." There's so much in that voice, more than enough to make Angeal smile and keep holding those hands.

"Now I know he's not dead yet," he whispers and sits straight, as though someone lifted a huge burden off his shoulders.

* * *

  
The bell rings twice, three times, impatiently, and Sephiroth hurries down the vast staircase that leads to the upper bedrooms (his is the smallest, of course; his own choosing and Hojo's blessing). He has no idea who it might be, and generally if it's one of the kids from the village nearby, they give up after a minute or two. Not this time.

He turns the key in the age old door and almost falls down upon seeing the familiar face.

"Please, don't close the door," Angeal says with a face set into a pout, eyes pleading. "I came all the way here..." He pauses and digs through the paper bag in one of his hands, pulls out a familiar looking bottle out with a grin. "Cassis de Dijon," he says, almost too smugly, and the corners of Sephiroth's lips quirk.

"Tempter," he whispers, tries to keep his lips from spreading into a smile, but he's definitely losing the fight.

"That I am," Angeal answers with too much pride that the whole scene looks comical. "May I come in? It's freezing outside."

"Not much warmer inside," Sephiroth says, but moves to the side and lets Angeal pass by him.

He spends a mere second or two looking around, then he snorts. "Good to know the donations are spent well."

"Jest doesn't suit you," Sephiroth says and Angeal turns around to face him.

"Neither is solitude good for you, so it seems," Angeal answers and discards the bottle to the nearby table, the large thing in the middle of the lobby, if an enormous space enclosed by humongous, priceless colourful windows in front of an even grander double staircase could even be called that. "This house is creepy."

"It's just old," Sephiroth says and smiles politely. "Give it a chance, it grows on you eventually."

"I'm not sure I want it to. Can we go somewhere less... Hojo-like?" Angeal tries with a chuckle and Sephiroth shrugs.

"The only thing I can think of is outside, and—" he doesn't even get to finish the sentence as Angeal grabs him by the hand and pulls to the front door. Sephiroth notes the bottle is back in Angeal's other hand.

It's a beautiful day. The sky is more misty than clear, with mountain tops hidden above the layer of clouds. Snow is everywhere, painfully white and glimmering under the low, sharp sunlight. Suddenly, Sephiroth is thankful that Angeal let him grab his jacket, because the cold is prickly to the skin, and he rubs his palms together to keep his fingers somewhat warm.

"Now this," Angeal cuts the deafening silence as he turns around to face Sephiroth, arms spread and the still unopened bottle in one of them. "This I could get used to."

"Don't be a fool, Angeal..."

"Oh, come _on_," Angeal interrupts and speeds his pace down the small slope that leads away from the mansion and towards the village. The houses are hidden in the foggy distance, their roofs covered with a white layer of snow, though Sephiroth thinks he can hear children's laughter here and there, when the air current turns to their side. It's surprisingly calm today, considering what the katabatic winds sometimes do to this area, even though it's so far away from the coastline. First time he came, he was certain he had been left to freeze in the deepest pits of hell, but like this...

Angeal fights to open the bottle and he manages after a few tries, then shakes his hand to relieve the pain. Nonetheless, he offers the bottle to Sephiroth first.

... and maybe it's the company.

Sephiroth takes it and pulls a good mouthful before he could regret it. The liquor tastes bitter and sharp, like all alcohol does to him, but the berries are thick and sweet, almost syrupy as they stick to his throat. After the first, uncomfortable shock, all Sephiroth feels is the warm, lulling sweetness of berries. It doesn't take longer than a minute or two, and his cheeks already burn red and Angeal grins and decides to serve himself as well.

Sephiroth refuses to think about the price, about what might have been done with that money and how much it must have pained Angeal to waste it on this. In a way, he appreciates the gesture. No one but Angeal would have done something like this for Sephiroth. No one.

The bottle is around half empty by the time the sun starts to set behind the dim peaks, and the shadow covers them within minutes, bringing the sudden promise of cold. The two of them decide to stop their mindless wondering and start walking back to the manor, but at one point Sephiroth spots a bench still covered in snow and, as though he's reading Sephiroth's mind, Angeal starts swiping the snow off the wooden boards with his still gloved hands.

The two of them sit then, barely touching the edge of the bench to keep as much of their skin from exchanging the heat with the other surfaces.

"You should come back," Angeal bursts, and it's obvious it's a sentence he's been fighting with for the past hour at least. As though without thinking, he squeezes his gloved hand around Sephiroth's bare ones, freezing cold. Sephiroth feels Angeal shaking.

"I wish it were that easy," Sephiroth says and he feels the cold under his hips, sucking the heat away from his body, but he just can't move. Maybe it's the liquor, but maybe it's not. He missed this, talking with Angeal about things that matter, but not really. Angeal always had an insight to things, a fresh point of view. "I can't leave Mother Church, it would be..."

Angeal snorts, which in a way is untypical of him, but also not that much. He's drunker than Sephiroth, that much is certain, but that's just because Sephiroth does own self control. Unlike some, he likes to think with a small chiding smile. "Why can't you just use your brain, Seph?" Angeal asks.

Sephiroth feels his cheeks warm up again, but he just shrugs. "Because that's not the point," he offers, staring somewhere into the distance, where the endless line separates the white snow from the grayish, foggy sky.

"Oh, get off your high tower," Angeal says and Sephiroth winces, but tries to hide it, because he knows Angeal isn't here to hurt him. All the pain comes directly from within, from his sin. "So, on your day of judgement, you're telling me that you'll actually stand before Him, before your _maker_, and when He asks you what you did with the greatest gift He gave to men," he knocks over Sephiroth's head to prove his point, "you're telling me you'll simply answer 'nothing'? How do you think _that_ will make Him feel?"

"That is not true," Sephiroth defends, feels his hackles rise. "That is not..."

"That's exactly what you're doing!" Angeal yells and his voice reverberates through the faraway mountain peaks. "At one side you have humans, so tiny in this universe, so dependent of this little green ball of dirt, and on the other a small billionth part of humanity which is a small billionth part of the entire creation who just _happened_ to be so almighty that _He Himself_ chose to bathe them in His eternal glory! If only pride were a sin, Seph, if only it were a sin..."

"What you're saying is blasphemy!" Sephiroth counteracts and Angeal rolls his eyes once more.

"He is no less of a God just because we need him instead of being chosen by Him. Have some humility, Seph, I know you're better than a bunch of centuries old dogmas that mustn't be questioned." Angeal sighs. "Do you really despise your brain as much as... _they_." He points randomly somewhere behind them and, Sephiroth knows exactly whom he refers to.

"Maybe I should quit," Sephiroth whispers, suddenly the tips of his boots far more interesting than his friend. "Maybe..."

"Maybe you should," Angeal offers and Sephiroth glances at him, completely confused. "If that's what you want to. Is it?"

"I don't know, I..." He wants to cry, but he tells himself his nose is runny because of the cold. They've been out here, abusing their bodies with alcohol and snow for far too long. "I think so." It's barely a whisper, and he knows his eyes glow with tears as he looks at Angeal, who quickly offers a strong, comforting embrace. And Sephiroth _knows_ he should break away.

"Would you do it for yourself, or...?" Angeal asks and Sephiroth shrugs before actually thinking about it.

Something shifts in Sephiroth, and the flush in his cheeks isn't tipsiness anymore. He hides his face in his palms, sighing so he could muffle a sob. "If only he didn't tempt me! If only..." He doesn't continue because Angeal laughs loudly, then he starts screaming into the dusking sky. The moment of shame passes and Sephiroth just turns to staring at his friend as though he's lost his mind. Which he did.

"Is that what this is all about?" Angeal says far too loudly, still laughing with disbelief, arms spread and palms looking into the sky. "Is that what you _really_ think? That God put _him_, God put _Genesis_ into this earth for no other reason but to tempt _you_?" The words start sinking slowly and Sephiroth slides his eyes to the dirty snow on the ground, ashamed. He's thankful for the lack of strength in Angeal's next words. "My friend, we are all but ants upon this earth, tiny and fragile and oh so very alone." Sephiroth bites the inside of his cheek as he feels the touch of cold, oh so very old and worn out leather under his chin. He looks up then, into a pair of softest eyes he's ever seen, and Angeal is smiling at him. "The only thing you can blame Genesis for is threading his own path when it crossed yours."

Sephiroth chuckles dryly. "I never took you for a poet."

Angeal grins. "Must be in the scenery." He slides back to the cold bench next to Sephiroth, not pulling away, but not forcing contact either. Though, Sephiroth falls into an embrace willingly, just to preserve body heat. Nothing more. Angeal sighs so very dreamily against him. "I talked to him."

Sephiroth tenses at the mere four words, wanting to pull away, but is somewhat glad Angeal is firmly against it.

"He may have acted out of spite, but his heart is in the right place, I assure you of that."

Once again, Sephiroth hides his sob with a sigh. "If it's an abomination, why is love involved?" he asks and feels Angeal tense as well. So, he hasn't expected that one, Sephiroth thinks bitterly, and now he's enraged, his heart breaking because Angeal's opinion of him is obviously so low. He wouldn't have touched Genesis, not unless... _An abomination_. "I need to leave the Church. I need to, because of him, I have to—"

"Then maybe you shouldn't," Angeal quickly interrupts.

Sephiroth laughs dryly, but it ends up muffled in Angeal's jacket. "Aren't you supposed to help me?" he asks as he pulls away, realizing with sheer terror that he's not supposed to be reaching temptations once more.

It just makes Angeal laugh, openly, loudly, sincerely, something Sephiroth missed so much. The sound is nothing but comforting, and even Sephiroth's lips quirk a bit.

"I was with Genesis just yesterday," Angeal says, breaks the silence the two of them ended up in, lulled comfortably even despite the cold. Sephiroth winces. "He's sorry, I know he's..."

"He wanted to hurt you, the way he thinks you hurt him," Sephiroth says matter-of-factly, thinking maybe if he looked at the entire situation from a distant point, it would all make sense. And pain less. The sweet syrupy taste refuses to leave his mouth. "And I never found out what really happened, Angeal, I think I have the right..."

"God only knows, we were sixteen and at that age people do stupid things," Angeal sighs.

"Age has little to do with it," Sephiroth adds, the small blush pinking his cheeks, but he tells himself it's just the alcohol.

Angeal chuckles, pats Sephiroth's back. "Does it really hurt that much? Do you regret it?"

Sephiroth sighs. "Do you?" he asks and is surprised to see Angeal simply shake his head.

"I kept on telling myself that I did. Over and over again. I can't believe it took me a decade to come to terms with the truth."

"Which is?" Sephiroth urges, then grabs the bottle once more and takes a good sip out of it.

"I don't regret a single thing I did. Not with him, not with..." Still, Sephiroth thinks, he's incapable of saying it. So much for not having any regrets.

"I do," Sephiroth says, forces it to be casual. "That's why I think I should leave."

Angeal practically chokes on his drink, coughs a few times then stares. "Are you _mad_?" he yells and, Sephiroth thinks, the people in the village could have heard that. "Why?"

It takes him a few seconds, but Sephiroth wins the battle over that eye roll. And yet, it is _he_ who feels so... inadequate, stupid. "I slept with a man," he says in a lowered voice. It's interesting, in a way, how embarrassed he is with it all, still. "I..."

"Kissed another man," Angeal adds with a blush of his own, and those lips quirk just a bit. Then the eyes... Sephiroth refuses to think about the eyes.

"I'm a disgrace." Sephiroth thinks it should have been much harder to confess. But it's not.

"Why?" Angeal defends. "Because you're human?"

"I'm a _priest_."

"No, Seph, you're a saint!"

"And is it not exactly what we all strive to be?" Sephiroth asks, keeps his voice lower for both of them.

"Inhuman?" Angeal asks with enough shock. "Unlike His image?"

"So, you don't regret it?" Sephiroth changes the subject in the least smooth manner.

Angeal laughs. "Regret?" he asks, voice still elevated. "Hell, no!"

Deciding to ignore the blasphemy, Sephiroth just sighs. "But he seduced you."

"Seduced me?" Angeal asks in disbelief. "Are you _mad_?" Sephiroth simply blinks, not quite sure what to say. "He was this sweet little thing, my _soulmate_, and I was your typical sex deprived seminary boy who came home for the summer. It was _I_ who seduced him, poor little soul," he pauses, staring somewhere in the distance just before he empties his the bottle and throws it into the thick deep snow before them, expression grim. "But you see," he quickly looks at Sephiroth, totally defeated, "by the time I found out what happened, it was already too late. No trace of him left, because my parents just couldn't fathom their little angel to be guilty of such a... a _perversity_, and his..." He shrugs, looking all the way like a man who lost the ability to find another escape from his problems in life. "I fucked up his life."

"Angeal..." Sephiroth whispers and extends his hand to cup those cheeks, now red but cold. Oh so very cold. Angeal forces another smile.

"And now you know the truth," Angeal snaps with a bitter voice and Sephiroth wants to scream and fight him, because it's not _fair_. Genesis is the evil one, he _has to_ be the evil one, the tempter, the whore, the lying... not...

"Angeal..."

"Are you proud _now_?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**Sincerest apologies for the long wait! Real life got in the way, as it is prone to do. ****Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Please enjoy!  
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**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****8: False Witnesses  
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* * *

"It has been six months," Sephiroth whispers over his soup, glances at the Cardinal, who simply returns the look with stern eyes.

"Whoever perseveres without defiance in the cell and lets himself be taught by it..." Hojo's voice is such as though he's leading a prayer, and Sephiroth closes his eyes and looks down, back into the plate. Then, he continues in a whisper, his voice much softer, warmer, "Purified by patience, fed and strengthened by studied meditation on Scripture, introduced by the grace of the Holy Spirit..." The words seem to wrap around Sephiroth's heart and he murmurs the rest of the sentence.

"He will thus be able to, not only serve God, but adhere to him."

"Remember those words, child," Hojo says, forces Sephiroth to open his eyes. "Repeat them over and over if need be." Those thin lips spread into a smile, so above Sephiroth, so holy. "I can see your soul still longs for the earthly life." And Sephiroth knows exactly what 'earthly' in this case means - sinful, joyless, _wrong_. "You have to trust me."

"But, I..."

"_Silence_!" Sephiroth shakes so hard his spoon almost falls out of his fist, but the Cardinal doesn't even see it. He smiles again. "I raised you, I know what's best for you. Now go back to your room and pray. I will see you in three days." The words are so warm, so _playful_ even, as though Hojo is ordering the flavours of his ice-cream, but Sephiroth pushes that sacrilegious thought out of his mind. The Cardinal is right, he should pray, pray and pray until nothing else remains.

* * *

Two days after Hojo's departure, a huge storm settles over the mountain. For the first day, Sephiroth can't see through his windows from the snow, but he doesn't let it bother him. None of the wind blasts do more than shake windows a few times and make some old wooden boards creak with force. In a way it's soothing, being inside where it's warm and watching the hell break loose outside. He hopes the villagers prepared for it.

The following dawn greets him with sharp sun rays cutting the dust in the old manor. Sephiroth feels like a cat locked up and he needs to get out. There's something about the heaviness of the snow over the roof and the sound it makes as it slides and falls. It's almost claustrophobic. But he stays inside, because the Cardinal should come today and it would be silly if the man saw him playing in the snow when he should be praying and praying and praying.

He manages another day, but then it's just too much. He finds the thickest pieces of clothing he owns, puts a jacket on top and rushes out to the thick, fresh snow that reaches all the way to his knees. At first he walks around, aimlessly exploring the yard that looks nothing like it did mere days ago. He gets tired and cold after an hour or so, and he returns back into the house to prepare a meal.

Hojo doesn't come.

Sephiroth does the same the following day, fighting his way to the shed in hope he'll find a shovel to at least clean the entrance-way to the house. It takes him ten minutes to drag to the shed, and once he's there he realises it's locked, but he has no idea where the keys might be, so he goes back into the house to look around. He digs through the house a few times and fails, so he decides not to think about it. He tries to find work, something, _anything_ to occupy his mind with before it starts to wander. The cold reminds him of many things, cold hands, cold hearts.

Idle hands, idle hands...

In the morning, he busies himself with cleaning the house. There are some wet stains on the carpet the boots left yesterday, and dishes to be done, breakfast to be made, itinerary to be checked for the point when Hojo returns so he knows what to bring next time.

It's around two in the afternoon when Sephiroth realises that Hojo might not be coming today either, as he usually comes around noon. He grabs his things once more and decides to walk down to the village to ask around. Maybe something had happened, maybe the roads are blocked, and maybe the people know how long it'll be until they clean them.

* * *

The snow is thick but almost fluffy at points. He doesn't know his way down the mountain, so he keeps on tripping. He feels sore by the time he reaches the houses; sees the children laughing loudly and throwing snowballs at one another. Accidentally, one hits him, and he almost laughs as he clears the snow off his coat. The children stop their play, huge expectant eyes staring at him from under the woolly caps apologetically. All it takes him is to quirk his lips and they run away, annoyed more than frightened.

The nearest door opens, though, a parent perhaps alarmed with the sudden lack of noise. A woman steps out still pulling on her jacket, she looks around first, looking for the children, then turns her narrow eyes at him and smiles.

"Oh, Father," she says, voice much younger than the face, as she pulls the ends of her jacket tighter around her body and walks towards him with one arm extended. "I didn't expect you to—" she stops right in front of Sephiroth, the smile disappearing from her lips, she places her hand over her eyes, guarding them from the bright winter sun as she looks at him. She smells of cinnamon and burning wood. Even though the top of her head barely reaches Sephiroth's shoulder, he feels so small under that gaze.

"Oh, sweet Lord, you look just like her," she whispers, more to herself than to him, then smiles once more, intelligent eyes hiding the shock better than the lips, and she lowers her hands, just to squeeze them around Sephiroth's. They feel so warm, soft. "Come on in, Father, I just made an apple pie, come on in." It's not a question, and her hands don't let go, but pull instead; Sephiroth wouldn't be able to escape what seems to be such a strong grip of such a small woman. He wouldn't be able to escape it even if he wanted to, but his stomach grumbles. He's so hungry he'd hate himself for following if he had the strength.

The house is so warm, so uncomfortably hot Sephiroth just pulls his coat off the moment she closes the door. He sees the fire in the stove, strong big flames flickering, wood cracking, the smoke disappearing into the chimney. He sees a teapot on top, brewing or just staying warm, it doesn't matter. And he smells the apples, the spices, the seductive sugary dough, she turns around after hearing Sephiroth's stomach, so loud and hungry, and she smiles so warmly Sephiroth feels jealous over her children. He wants someone like that. He always had.

"Sit, sit!" she says, points to the table near the stove, walks quickly to the kitchen and starts fussing with things, plates, utensils, napkins. She places a plate with what seems to be at least quarter of the whole pie in front of him, smile even wider. "Tea?" she asks and Sephiroth nods, because she seems to be the type who'd pour him a cup regardless. "Sugar? Milk?" Sephiroth does shake his head this time, watches the dark liquid fill up the cup next to his apple pie, thinks he died last night and this is heaven. She disappears quickly once more, another plate, for her this time, with a slice perhaps one tenth of Sephiroth's. He looks at her curiously but her eyes show he better not object.

He takes a bite at last, brain still frozen enough he's only capable of following her actions. The pie tastes so good, so warm and sweet and perfect he wishes it would make him sick. It's a few more bites before she dares speak, those lips still smiling wide, cheeks and nose rosy now that the circulation is back in them.

"I am so rude, I know, but look at you, you're so _thin_!" she says, points again to the pie and Sephiroth takes another bite. He's so hungry his fingers start shaking only now. "If I were your mother, I'd be worried sick. _Eat_!" It's then that Sephiroth's still hazy mind remembers the events of mere minutes ago. Maybe it's just hope, a little flicker in the dark of the past months. Maybe he's just asking for too much.

"Outside..." he starts and she looks up from her plate, smiles once more so very warmly. "You said—" They're interrupted with children's laughter as a pair barges through the door loudly, one of them yelling "Mama, mama," before the woman stands up and looks at them.

"Behave, we have a guest in the house!" she says sternly, but with so much love. One of the boys pulls his own woollen hat off, revealing a blond mess so much lighter than the woman's hair.

"But mama, I—" the boy tries, but the mother looks him so sternly (and still, with so much love).

"Cloud, won't you take some pie to Tifa's mum, I seem to have made too much?" she asks as her lips once more spread into a smile, and the boy, Cloud, grins widely, as any child would when there's cakes involved. She looks at Sephiroth apologetically for a second, then goes to fetch what looks like a platter wrapped in some nylon and she gives it to the boy, kissing the messy hair. He needs two hands to hold the platter, so she opens the door for him. The other child, a head shorter, just follows wordlessly.

Sephiroth feels even more jealous now, and he doesn't know why.

"I apologise for the boys," the woman says as she returns to her chair. "And my rudeness once again, Father," she adds, extends her arm for a handshake, which Sephiroth takes, standing up as is polite for just a second before deciding the chair is much more stable. "Ruth," she says, points once more to the door, "and those are my two brats, Cloud and Gabriel." Her eyes shine with so much love, Sephiroth is certain he'd do anything to be in their shoes. He never did learn how to play.

"I'm Sephiroth," he manages between bites and Ruth just smiles widely. "I'm—"

"Yes, yes, a priest, up there in the Cardinal's manor. I've seen you around the house, always wondered why you never visited. For a while, I actually thought you were hiding," she adds with a chuckle, watches Sephiroth as he downs half his tea, then quickly grabs the teapot from the stove and pours the liquid to the rim, in spite of Sephiroth's protests.

"So," Sephiroth decides to return to the topic he's curious about once more. "Who was it you said I reminded you of?"

Ruth just smiles once more, looks at Sephiroth a bit confusedly, and then she blinks. "Your mother, of course, who else?" The words seem to wrap themselves around Sephiroth's heart, squeezing hard.

"Mother..." He doesn't notice the word coming out of his mouth until he actually hears it. _Mother_... He raises his eyes up, locks them with Ruth's. "You know my mother?"

She nods. "Yes, of course. We all did," she chuckles, but there's not much humour in her voice. "She came here with a belly up to her teeth, and still she'd come down from that manor for a daily dose of gossip every day, and climb back up all by herself." She sighs then, shadow falling over those intelligent, inquisitive eyes.

"Are you _sure_?" Sephiroth asks, feels his muscles tensing and then sees his hands squeezed into fists, nails digging deep into his palms. "Are you sure she was—"

"Honey, you look just like her!"

"Where is she?" Sephiroth realises he's yelling only after the words are already out. And then he sees that shadow darkening, starts to understand but refuses to accept. "What happened to her?" The words come out as a whisper and Ruth tries to smile, but she obviously can't.

"I'm sorry, honey," she shakes her head, liquid forming at the corners of her eyes, "we have no hospitals around here, and sometimes nature takes its toll... I'm so sorry..." Sephiroth wishes he could feel Ruth's pain, but still, this is just a stranger to him. A woman who gave her life for him... just a stranger.

"Is there a grave? I'd like to—"

Once more, Ruth shakes her head, pulls a tissue from somewhere in her sleeve and wipes her nose, sobs once, but it's enough to make Sephiroth feel so guilty. So guilty. "We wanted to bury her. I wanted her... I mean, she was my _friend_ but Hojo... he just wouldn't..." She shakes her head once more, looks up at Sephiroth with forced calmness. It's an old wound, that much is obvious, but she feels so guilty breaking before a stranger. "He said her family already had a place for her and... he took her. Just like that. He left with you and some milk we managed to find." She chuckles without humour. "You look so much like her."

"Name..." Sephiroth whispers, unable to pull his eyes away from a crack in the wooden surface of the table.

"Sorry?" Ruth asks.

"What was her name?" Sephiroth repeats, finally manages to glance up and it hurts him so much. Wrong, so wrong... "What was my mother's name?"

"Lucretia."

* * *

Ruth gave a whole bag of dried fruit and preserves for Sephiroth to take back with him. But once he's back in the manor, he leaves the bag in the kitchen and rushes to the basement, _knowing_ all the answers can be on one place alone. He doesn't look for the key, but breaks the lock with a pair of pliers and pulls all the papers he can, leafing through them one by one while pacing in the dim light of the basement. He has no idea how many hours pass, he keeps on reading.

It's dark and it gets darker, but there are no windows in the basement, only an old flickering light and sounds of footsteps over old wood. So much, he sees so much, he's afraid his mind is going to break. One's whole world view is not supposed to shatter within a day. Not in a dusty basement of an old house in the middle of nowhere.

It's when his eyes start to burn that he looks up, grips his birth certificate (mother: Lucretia Crescent, father: unknown), grips his mother's death certificate (cause of death: amniotic fluid embolism; _what_ is that? Sephiroth feels like his skull is splitting, so many things, so many _things_!) and rushes up the circular stairs and into the daylight. It seems so blinding.

Then he hears the sounds. Footsteps in the kitchen, ruffling of plastic bags. Still holding those two papers as though they define his very existence, he rushes like a fury.

Hojo looks up from placing some frozen meat into the freezer.

"Oh, there you are," he says with that sweet, acidic tone that seems to be grinding Sephiroth's brain like nails. "My child, would you help me, please? These old bones..." Sephiroth just stares and it takes Hojo aback. He tries another chuckle, but it lacks sharpness. "I'm quite sorry, the roads were blocked. I didn't mean to sca—"

"You knew my mother," Sephiroth says darkly, doesn't bother raising his voice, but the words do the trick anyway. Hojo freezes, that smile strips off those lips in a flash. And he just stares, twitches his upper lip because he tries to say something. _Tries_, but he doesn't. "You knew her. All this time, and you lied."

"Sephiroth..."

"My whole life. A lie." It seems as though his words get more and more quiet with every passing second, but they effect Hojo better every time. "You lied. _You_ lied. You _lied_!"

"My child, please!" Hojo tries but Sephiroth's expression shuts him up. The Cardinal looks like a man afraid for his life, and Sephiroth knows he better be.

"You knew my _mother_!" Sephiroth yells, loud, so loud. "_You brought her here_!" He sees Hojo shake. He better be. "All these years! You—"

"What was I supposed to _do_?" Hojo screams back, stops Sephiroth mid sentence. He still looks so terrified, but he's not backing out. As though he has the moral high ground, and normally he does. But Sephiroth is angry. So much _anger_. "She was a whore! She seduced me! She almost ruined everything! _Everything_! You have no _idea_!"

Suddenly, even the world stops spinning, the time freezes and everything seems so still. Hojo doesn't dare even breathe and Sephiroth is certain his own heart stopped. Nothing is so quiet. Nothing should be. And Sephiroth knows, he shouldn't be eyeing the knife on the counter.

"Sephiroth..." Hojo tries once more, smiles but it looks so grotesque. Sephiroth feels like throwing up, but he's too weak for that. "My child—"

"Don't you _dare_!" Sephiroth yells, reaches for the knife and finds himself in front of Hojo, _knowing_ he could do it. He _can_ do it, just one inch, blade through the skin. He'd cleaned meat before, prepared it, helped Angeal in the kitchen... "Say another word and I _will_ kill you." Still, at this point, it's an idle threat, and even Hojo notices the tremble of Sephiroth's hand, but he doesn't dare push his luck.

Coward. Hojo has always been such a coward. And it all makes sense now, it's just so much. Sephiroth feels the world spinning around him, but it's good, it's just... just the way it's supposed to be. The knife falls to the floor, metal over tiles sounds so loud, so incredibly loud, headache inducing and loud. Sephiroth has no idea how exactly he manages to change into something warm, or how his most important belongings end up squeezed into a simple backpack he'd left at the bottom of his wardrobe six months ago.

_Six months ago_.

The thing that pulls him out of the endless buzzing in his ears while the world seems as though it's continuing without him, is actually Hojo's voice.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks with an edge, but instantly softens as Sephiroth looks at him. Coward. Such a _coward_

"Lies," Sephiroth spits out, eyes filled with rage, one hand gripping the wooden fence of the staircase. "You lied," he says one last time as Hojo runs down the staircase to follow after him, obviously having a fairly good idea what's going on.

"I did it for you," he tries, that screechy voice making Sephiroth think of things he shouldn't be. "I had to protect you, my child, don't you..."

Once more, Sephiroth turns around, so much rage spilt on his face Hojo jumps a step back. "Follow me, and I swear on... on the cross, I *will* kill you." He turns around then, the only thing keeping him from choking is the fact that the door is so close, just one more step, just one more step.

He doesn't close the door behind him, still listening to Hojo's helpless screeches for help, for suffering, for Mother Church and he can't, he can't think about it, he has to focus on breathing, on walking, on _going_. Up until this point, escape seemed like betrayal. Now, it's just... an escape. Freedom.

* * *

Morning mist greys the air and he touches the window of the bus, feels the condensed water dissipate around its warmth. It's a long ride, about two hours of him losing his soul completely, but somehow he just can't make himself get up and exit on each of the numerous stops between where he got in and where his ticket is supposed to take him.

It's for the best, really, because he has nothing else to do. He's admitted defeat, about a week ago, and there's hardly a lower point to sink to. And Ruth was so kind taking him in, helping him through the nights of crying. With people like her, he wants to believe in God once more.

The purring of the engine lulls him to sleep, and he'd like to pull himself out of it, but there's nothing else to do. There's a Bible in his backpack, and he really can't push the knife deeper anymore.

There's a woman sitting next to him, old and tired and probably even more sleepy. About an hour into the ride, she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, and she remains there, looking so content he's wondering does everyone look happy when they sleep, because he can't think of a single second when he...

When the time comes to get off the bus, he's actually thinking of just remaining there. It's warm and comfortable and the windows are shaded from the winter sun. Though here, so low, with no mountains, it looks as though the spring is coming. He does get up, because inaction and action are just two sides of the same coin. The sun blinds him and the mist tastes almost acidic inside his throat. He has nowhere else to go, so he holds his backpack tightly as he crosses the street.

After years of living here, he knows almost every part of this town. Every street. It takes him twenty minutes by foot from the station to the church, which looms high above the old buildings. Such hypocrisy, erecting a tower of such grandeur surrounded with so much poverty. He never thought of these things before, and for a second he almost chuckles. Angeal would have been proud.

And maybe he will be, Sephiroth doesn't know. There's a part of him that keeps on hoping. Throughout his life, there has always been one person who understood him, who'd help him without judging. And Sephiroth needs him now, even though it's almost risky coming back. God only knows what Hojo was up to while Sephiroth was mourning. God only knows...

He presses the door bell and hides his hands in the pockets of his jacket, because they're shaking. It takes about half a minute for the key in the door to be turned and Sephiroth blinks, faced with a completely unfamiliar face.

"How may I help you?" a young man asks. His lips are spread into a wide, sincere smile, and he looks as though he's in his teenage years, except for the collar which shows he's already a priest. Still, Sephiroth thinks, barely out of the seminary.

"Is Father Hewley..." he lets it linger and the boy blinks a few times, looks confused, then he shakes his head.

"Father Hewley left months ago," he says and Sephiroth feels the blood leave his face.

"Left?" he asks. "Where to?"

The boy shrugs, combs his fingers through his messy, black hair. "He left the Church... what was it? Four or five months ago. That's when I was moved here. A-are you alright?" he quickly adds as he probably sees the shock on Sephiroth's face. "Are you a friend of his? I mean, I can probably call a few people, find out his phone number, his address? Could tell him you've been looking for him?" He smiles, extends his arm for a handshake and Sephiroth looks at it, thinks he should shake it, if only he could move. "Ah, I didn't catch your name, sorry. Everything is still kind of overwhelming, I apologise. I'm Zack. Zack Fair."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.**

**I bet you didn't expect an update. ;) Apologies for the long wait and a huge thanks to sanctumsfw. Thanks to their contribution, the story finally comes to an end.** **Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Thanks for everyone who reviewed so far, and please enjoy!**

* * *

**THOSE WITHOUT SIN**

**Chapter ****9: What Is Your Neighbour's **

* * *

Left, he said, the boy who is already a priest, who already has responsibilities that equal Sephiroth's, even though Sephiroth has no idea how he manages. Thinking of it now, Sephiroth doesn't know how he managed himself, but somehow he did.

Angeal had a lot to do with it, surely.

_Left._

He's gripping the pile of paper that defines his life – birth certificate, school diplomas, official documents that he's not quite sure what they're used for, but someone obviously thought it necessary for him to have them.

"And I think that's it," Zack says in that cheerful tone that Sephiroth is beginning to think is the boy's default state, as he places an thick manila coloured envelope on their kitchen table.

On _Zack's_ kitchen table, Sephiroth needs to remind himself. This table hasn't been _his_ in a very long time. He wonders, had that happened before or after he left to hide on a mountain covered in snow?

"I don't know whose foot you stepped on, but Hojo sure as hell wants you out," Zack adds, pulls Sephiroth's eyes up. "Oops," he smiles; pulls a hint of a chuckle out of Sephiroth too.

"Good," is all Sephiorth manages as he slides the envelope closer, turns it around and flips it open. Just papers. Documents and statements regarding his departure from his job. Yes, _job_, because it doesn't seem like any more than that. It's not his identity, that much he knows. Genesis made sure of that.

And money. Thick pile to be seen all at once, and Sephiroth does slide his eyebrows up for a second, not quite sure what to take of it.

"To get you started," Zack says, drinks from his cup of tea and nods towards Sephiroth's, but Sephiroth is not interested in tea right now. "Before all the paperwork's done with the bank."

"That's too much," Sephiroth comments, places the bills onto the table and Zack chuckles.

"Well, whatever foot you stepped on, they _really_ want you out, hm?" he teases, but quickly turns serious as Sephiroth fails to find any humour in this.

"I can't take this. I don't need this much."

"Do you have anywhere to live? Do you know anyone who'll take you?" Zack demands in that tone Sephiroth knows too well from Angeal. Just guidance, spiritual as well as worldly. Shame, Sephiroth thinks, they better not corrupt this boy. Angeal wouldn't like that.

And it's silly thinking about Angeal all this time, when there are far more practical matters to be taken care of. He needs a place to live. He needs a hotel room for tonight, definitely. And maybe food, if he manages to down some, though that might be unlikely.

And a job. A real job this time, he thinks with an inward sneer.

So this is what it feels like to fall from grace? Sephiroth has to smile; he had no idea he'd feel so... empty.

"Then you do need this much," Zack says, places his palm over Sephiroth's, and slides the money away from himself. Without any sort of acknowledgement, Sephiroth places the bills back into the envelope, squeezes the other documents into it, thinks whether it might burst, but that's about it. Anything else, anything that _matters_ is just numbing him up, so he doesn't even bother thinking about it.

He gets up from his chair, slides it back under the table and realises he hasn't even touched the tea. Doesn't matter, it probably doesn't taste as good cold. "Thanks," he manages to murmur without looking up.

"If you want, you can stay here for tonight," Zack quickly adds, rushes towards the kitchen door to open it before Sephiroth, and it makes him feel so _silly_. He grew up here, at least the most important part of him did, and now it's not even his anymore. It never was.

"No," Sephiroth says, brushes by Zack and rushes to the hallway, wasting half a thought on whether he knows any hotels around here, realises he doesn't, but it doesn't really matter. He'll think about it when the need arises. Soon.

"I have a spare room," Zack adds helpfully, with a chuckle. "You know, we didn't get the second replacement here. No one wants to get stuck in the middle of no-"

"No," Sephiroth snaps, stops the boy mid sentence, makes him stand there, in the background, mulling things over, whether Sephiroth's tone indeed was as sharp as it seemed at first. "Thank you, father, you've been most helpful. Blessed be." And with that, he steps through the main door into the cold. Its tongues are sharp on his face, so he squeezes the coat tighter around his body, one hand gripping that envelope while the other slowly presses the door shut.

Zack doesn't follow. Thank God.

* * *

It's not easy leaving the Church, and the lack of faith has little to do with it. Two weeks in, and he's tired of signing all the papers, and then some. He'd run the diocese to the best of his abilities, but more he thinks about it, less is he certain he's capable of leading a life.

That's the difference between Angeal and he. Sephiroth spent the life protected, with someone else always taking care of everything, making all the decisions. Maybe he really isn't up to the task of being a human.

A small thought strikes him, guilty of preaching of things he obviously knows close to nothing about, but he brushes it off, because it just seems he has no time for philosophical self analysis.

He has a flat now, tiny, in an old building. It's as much as he can afford with the money he'll be getting until he gets a job. And now, that's another matter he's not strong enough to think about. What can a man like him offer? Condescension? Not exactly a wanted skill on the job market.

A little voice in his mind keeps on whispering about Angeal, about contacting Angeal, because he went through this before, he surely knows. He must know. He's doing it. It's quite a battle shutting it up, and most days Sephiroth fails, but he pushes on. There's a yet another visit to the bank that needs to be done. And he needs to get those papers signed by the landlady. Does he need a phone line? And why is the hot water gone so quickly?

A month passes, and he finally decides to try and find a job. It's the note about this month's payment that pushes him to it. He feels guilty sitting at home and doing nothing while getting the money that might actually do some good.

The cynic in him doesn't exactly believe it, but sloth is a deadly sin, so he doesn't push it.

He still prays a lot, though he's not sure whom to. Maybe it's a habit, and one day he'll break it, but right now he doesn't think about it twice.

A job would indeed do him some good, if nothing to take his mind off things. Things like Angeal and Genesis and where are they now anyway?

Surprisingly enough, it doesn't take him long to get it. There's a small Catholic school in a nearby town that would do good with a teacher of theology and history, and he can obviously do both. Not that he ever planned on teaching, and he's dreading the very idea, but he needs the money, and he needs to do something with his mind. With his mind's _free time_, most of all. They're not happy that he never taught, but they're desperate enough to bother their only other history teacher to help him out.

Not that she's happy about it either, but his past is enough to make her keep her distance and treat him with respect.

Sephiroth feels guilty, by the end of the day, about using his old glory (his old _shame_) to benefit, but an empty stomach doesn't care where its dinner came from. Nor do the bill collectors, he thinks as he bites the inside of his cheek. Life is just too complicated at how simple it actually is.

* * *

Six months pass, and he's already accustomed to teaching and classes and peer rapport. He still has mornings when he wakes up, unsure whether this is a dream, or his priesthood was. Either seems so dull, like a foggy, autumn morning. All that matters is the perspective, so it seems.

He's satisfied with life, surprisingly. Not _happy_, but this should do. He owns quite a number of things he can call his own, and it pleases him. Selfish, yes, but he wouldn't be here if he were more finicky about these things.

Six months of living in a hazy, little dream, and an envelope arrives, thick and big and so very intimidating. He doesn't recognise the handwriting, but his address is right there. So is the address of his old parish in the back, together with the name - Zack Fair. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but Sephiroth quickly rips the envelope open before he even walks into his flat, discarding his keys on the table, before he slips into a corner of his sofa, his jacket still on, spilling the contents into his lap. Letters, and more letters, in envelopes, with stamps and everything. Each and every one addressed to the Nibelheim manor, each and every one several months old.

This handwriting, he does recognise, and his heart skips a beat, though it feels like it stopped beating altogether. The dates seem random at first, but align with the last time he's seen Angeal so well, once a week, once a fortnight, then a month's pause before the last two.

Going through the envelopes, he notices a simple piece of paper, just folded once and slipped in between. He decides to take that first, not quite sure what prompts him besides the fact that it seems logical. The writing matches that on the envelope, and it's a messy scribble Sephiroth would chide his students on. Still, it's easy enough to read, considering the text is short, and to the point.

_"You would not believe what secrets spring cleaning brings to the surface. I suppose, when one has so many things to hide, some simply end up neglected, and I thought you, as the rightful owner, should finally be given these. I'm really sorry that these letters reached you so late. Not too late, I hope. God bless."_

Sephiroth wants to smile, but his heart feels too heavy for that. And his hands are shaking too as he takes the last letter and rips the edge of the envelope off, careful not to damage the paper. Sure, reading them chronologically might seem like a good idea, but all Sephiroth wants to know, at this point, is why Angeal stopped writing. Why did he stop _caring_?

_"Dear Sephiroth,_

_It's been so long since we've last seen each other. I have no idea what I've done to cause this silence, but I want to apologize once more. I've stopped hoping you'd forgive me eventually, after all this time, though I still pray."_

Sephiroth folds the paper and decides to take a deep breath. He glances around his room, in hope for something, some sort of a sign that he is going to survive this. It's just a letter. Letters don't kill.

_"There's not much to say, things are still the same. Genesis finished the second semestre two weeks ago, and we went on a small trip to the shore to celebrate, that's why this letter came so late. (I couldn't exactly start talking about you with him on a holiday, he's still hurting too much. We both are, actually.)_

_It's so stupid just thinking about it. The pain is supposed to grow weaker, but then again, this is you I'm writing to, isn't it? You never really were typical._

_Anyway, I'll keep it short, because I see it makes no sense to waste all this paper and ink on something that probably ends up in trash. Though I often try to imagine otherwise. So typical, isn't it? You always blamed me for being a dreamer."_

Once more, Sephiroth pauses. Not because he's distracted, but simply because his vision blurs. And it takes a while for his eyes to clear out again.

_"A word from you? Just to know you're alright. Hojo isn't exactly helpful, but we all knew that one._

_Goodbye,_

_Angeal"_

Sephiroth has no idea how long it takes. It could be hours, though it is probably measurable only in a few minutes, but time is such a relative thing, that much he knows. Eventually, his vision clears out enough to be able to scan those lines once more, and it's a pathetic little thing, when he thinks about it - so many have told him how he'd touched their lives, and yet suddenly, there's no one there and he's all alone in the world.

Honestly alone. He really doesn't feel anyone else.

* * *

The street is tiny, dirty, concrete wet from the morning rain and there's a little girl in an overstuffed jacket jumping around one puddle. He smiles, mostly because he's used to doing that, regarding children as little gifts from God. But she doesn't see him, far too occupied with her little game. There are tall four story buildings on each side of the street, blocking the light from drying the water, but at least it's making someone happy. Twenty four A, he keeps on repeating as he glances at the metal signs above the doors.

He's smart, he knows how to count and how the street system works, but still his heart skips a beat once he sees the number. He freezes then, looks around, looks to the third floor, sees the windows, some with shutters down, some with up, all of them with curtains. He knows, he should just turn around and go back to where he came from, but there's something pulling him, and it feels like a dream once he steps inside.

The hallway is dirty, signatures and drawings in permanent markers filling the walls, crossing over one another. There's no elavator, but considering the number of floors, he's not that surprised. With a sigh, he takes the first step up, hears the squeaky sound of his wet boots over the tiles, and in a way it makes him smile. At least he has something to focus on, and no one could blame him for a stealthy approach.

It's two times ten stairs each floor, the hallway tiny, clausthrophobically so. He realises he's gripping the insides of his pockets with every movement. His heart is beating so loud he's afraid that's the first thing they'll hear, but he keeps on repeating it's just imagination, just imagination, just imagination because he's really not afraid, not at all. Not ever.

Twenty then forty and finally sixty, his breath is quicker, deeper, and his heartbeat faster. Eight doors in the hallway, three on each side and two in the corners. His eyes scan them quickly, realising half of them are missing family name plates, and he's not sure which situation he should pray for.

It would be funny, ironically so, to have to knock on four doors before seeing their surprised faces, but then he spots them - Hewley and Rhapsodos, simply printed on white paper, one under the other. His heart stops, he thinks, and he definitely doesn't breathe for a few moments, just standing there, staring, thinking he'd just done the biggest mistake in his life. God only knows, he's probably spent fifteen minutes just standing, staring, terrifying the neighbours by the constant tha-dum that seems so loud it's drowning all the other sounds.

He sighs then, without actually wanting it, pulling the palm of his right hand out of the pocket, and it's then when he realises how sweaty his hands really are. The chilly air of the unheated hallway is enough to make him shiver from such a tiny part of exposed skin. He knocks, forcing himself to do it far before he decides against it, even though he knows he should just turn around, run down the stairs and disappear.

But he's weak; he really has no idea where else to go next, what to do. His own apartment, a complex of rooms he's always failed calling home, seems so empty and dry. Back there, those letters Zack sent were his only company. A fitting punishment, but Sephiroth cannot take it anymore. Enough silence, and he starts hating himself, his mind for bringing him into this mess, his body for not listening to him. So much for loving the temple of the soul. He's not sure whether he likes his own soul anymore.

And he hates how his heart, once more, skips a beat when he hears two familiar voices, the gentleness they share penetrates all this air and an inch of wood. He wants to hate them, just scream at them for what they'd done, but he can't make himself, not yet. Not ever, maybe.

It's when he hears the key being turned, sees the knob being pulled down that he _really_ wishes he'd never been this weak.

It's Angeal who opens the door, a year older, hair longer, the black of the church replaced with a simple green pair of pants and a dark blue turtleneck. He looks the same and yet so different.

And he stares.

Sephiroth wants to say something, anything, just excuse himself and turn around, but those eyes scream of stories yet untold, of confusion, disbelief, shock and, in the end, joy. Sephiroth has no idea what the man says, because there's that ringing in his ears that's not supposed to be there. He sees the lips move, the eyes shine, the neck turn the head, and he knows something's happening, but instead he just stands there, stares, lets himself being pulled into a tight embrace, feels that familiar scent that used to fill every pore of Angeal's little bedroom. He closes his eyes, feels the tears well at the corners of his eyes. He shuts them even tighter and from that point onwards, he knows he's not himself anymore.

From one moment to the other, he has no idea how much time has passed. He was in Angeal's arms first, now he's sitting on a small overused sofa that's seen better days about a decade ago with a cup of tea in his hands. And he realises, not even the teacups they have match. It makes him smile and Angeal exchanges a glance with Genesis.

_Genesis_.

There was always something about him, something so sad, so poignant and so wrong for one of God's children, but now finally Sephiroth sees why. He seems so _content_, the face losing that perpetual grip of sorrow and fear. He seems so _content_, smiling, exchanging knowing little glances with Angeal, sipping his tea, sitting.

He seems so content.

"I quit," Sephiroth says reluctantly over the rim of his cup, feels the fumes condense on his face.

Angeal looks at him and Genesis looks at Angeal. "Figured as much," Angeal says with a smile, always warm, always there and Sephiroth feels like killing him for it. Hell, he's been through hell, and they seem so happy.

Sephiroth doesn't know what else to say, and neither does Angeal, so the silence creeps over them once more, a thick uncomfortable blanket that seems a little easier to bear with every sip of tea Sephiroth takes. Even though he knows he should speak. Even though he knows he should say something, but none of the million speeches he's practised getting here suddenly seem reachable to his mind. Words seem too hard at this point. Whole bodies of text are simply impossible.

"Does that mean you'll stay?" It's Genesis who speaks at last, tone of voice so different from that tortured man Sephiroth remembers far too well. No more pain, yearning, longing, disapproval... jealousy. Just hope, nothing more, nothing less.

From there, Sephiroth forces his eyes to travel to Angeal. He doesn't say anything, but with what Sephiroth sees in those eyes, he doesn't know how to let go. Who would blame him? Those without sin, let them first cast their stones.

THE END


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